


People Are Trapped By Evil Times That Fall Unexpectedly Upon Them

by ffrindyddraig



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: (not main characters), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dehydration, Forced Labour, Gen, Illness, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Nor the battle to the strong, Prisoner of War, Season 5 Episode 4, Season 5 Spoilers, Slight Bashir/OFC which isn't that relevant to the story, Starvation, but I couldn't help but put in, mining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-04-23 11:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 40,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19149886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ffrindyddraig/pseuds/ffrindyddraig
Summary: Jake and Bashir find themselves trapped on Ajilon Prime, the Klingons approaching on all fronts, and the hope of rescue getting smaller and smaller with each passing second.AU from Nor The Battle To The Strong where The Defiant doesn't save the day.





	1. Part One - The Cave

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of my favourite episodes of DS9, so of course I am going to ruin it by writing crappy fanfiction about it that probably completely misses the message of the ep or something. This was the first long fic I writ, and I'm only just typing it up and correcting all my mistakes and stuff that just doesn't work.
> 
> The title is from Ecclesiastes 9:12 (I know, check out me not using the KJV - the title just flows better in NIV). The original ep title is from Ecclesiastes 9:11 :
> 
> 11 I have seen something else under the sun:
> 
> The race is not to the swift  
>  or the battle to the strong,  
> nor does food come to the wise  
>  or wealth to the brilliant  
>  or favor to the learned;  
> but time and chance happen to them all.
> 
> 12 Moreover, no one knows when their hour will come:
> 
> As fish are caught in a cruel net,  
>  or birds are taken in a snare,  
> so people are trapped by evil times  
>  that fall unexpectedly upon them.
> 
>  
> 
> If I owned DS9 it wouldn't be half as good as it is and Ezri would be in more than one season.

Jake opened his eyes.

For a moment all he could see was a bare rock ceiling and no memory of how it came to be there. Why was he not at home, seeing the dark metal roof of the station? The last thing he remembered...

_Oh._

The war. The klingons. Shooting wildly. Rocks falling around him. Shame rolled over him. An unstoppable tsunami. He was a coward. He closed his eyes as tears pricked at them. He took a deep breath, then another. All he wanted was to lie here forever, wallowing in self pity.

He turned his head to the side, a low groan forcing its way out his mouth at the pain that danced down his neck and through his spine. Suddenly cold hands were on his face, and if he had more energy he would of flinched, tried to fight them off, instead his eyes flew open and he let them straighten his head. The face of Doctor Bashir took up his vision. His eyebrows were drawn together, and a worry line bisected his forehead.

"How - when - ?" Jake started, his voice thin and raspy. Speaking felt like he was spitting up razor blades. He wouldn't of been surprised if blood was dripping down his chin.

"Don't try to talk." Bashir's voice shushed in bedside manner mode. Soft and confident, holding a promise that everything was going to be OK, even if it wasn't. So unlike the cheerful, uncontrolled cries he made when playing darts with Chief O'Brien, or the excited stream of chatter he used days (was it only days? It felt like months) before when 'explaining' everything that happened at that conference. But Jake was an army brat, he knew a command whatever voice it hid in.

He lay still as Bashir began scanning his body with a tricorder. "You were lucky. You almost brought the whole ceiling down on yourself."

Jake didn't feel lucky. He felt sick and tired and all he wanted was for this nightmare to be over and for him to go home. And to think, he brought this whole thing son himself! He was an idiot, going into a warzone just to get a better story. And now they were stuck here, no reinforcements, the Klingon army advancing towards them. He wished the ceiling had came down on him, just so he wouldn't have to be here - where ever the hell here even was - anymore.

The tricorder beeped, and Bashir smiled at him. A bedside smile, but, maybe, relief underneath. The two hardly knew each other, this trip being the first time Jake could remember being alone with the man. Any concern the doctor felt was no doubt due to the face he was his commanding officer's son. It would all be gone if he knew what Jake did.

"You're going to be fine, but expect nausea and dizziness for the next twelve hours. If it lasts longer than that tell me; you may be having a reaction to the drugs I administrated."

Jake tried to nod, even though he had only got every fourth word, but the movement sent the world spinning. For a second, there was two Bashir's and four sets of concerned eyes.

"I'm gonna - " he began in a rasp, but the rest of the words were lost in a retch as bile forced its way from his stomach to his mouth. Quickly Bashir rolled him on his side. His stomach heaved, trying to remove anything left in his already empty stomach. A soft touch rubbed his back soothingly, the hand going up on top of his t-shirt. Jake was sent flying back to when he was eight and ill. His Dad had rubbed his back in a similar way as Jake threw his guts up into the toilet. He would do anything for it to be his father stroking his back, not the doctor.

"It's alright." Bashir repeated behind him, and Jake wanted to scream that this was as far from alright as it got, but his mouth was filled with foul tasting bile and he was too tired to yell, to fight.

After he stopped retching, Jake gathered up all his strength and sat up. Quickly, in one singly movement. The world spun again, like he was on a carousel, and Jake thought he was going to throw up again. He didn't, and after a second the world slowed down to a pace he could comprehend. The first thing he could understand was Bashir's frowning face.

"You shouldn't of done that." He scolded. Even so, he helped Jake move backwards so he was leaning against the stone wall. He let the coldness seep through the back of his skull and sooth his screaming head.

"How did I get here?" He asked slowly, confused. Now up he could see he was not in the same cave he brought down the ceiling in - but he was also not in the chopper the doctors had claimed was waiting for them. Bashir looked uncomfortable, his fingers darting to the hem of his Federation shirt.

"When I noticed you weren't with the group, I came back looking for you. You were in a bad way. But if it wasn't for you, the Klingons would of got us by now - our evacuation tunnel has caved in during the bombing."

Jake swallowed. They were stuck between two cave ins. At least they were not going to be ripped apart by Klingons... yet. He wished the uncomfortable look on Bashir's face hadn't changed to one that said he thought Jake was a damn hero. He wanted to yell at him until he knew what a coward he really was. He didn't stay behind to save them, he stayed behind because he was to terrified to run. He picked up a phaser to save his life. He wasn't thinking of the patients. He was selfish. He didn't deserve the look the doctor was giving him.

"But how did I get _here_? We must be miles down." He said instead, eyes focused on a spot just behind Bashir's left ear. The walls around him dripped with water and they didn't shake with the impact on bombs above. Bashir's face turned uncomfortable again, and Jake was glad that look had gone.

"I carried you." He said finally.

"On your own?" His voice was laced with disbelief, his eyebrow rising up. Not that he thought the doctor was a liar, but Jake was already taller than him, and twenty four hours ago the man was in a worse condition than Jake was in now.

"It wasn't far." Bashir defended. "And I couldn't just leave you there on the floor."

Jake remembered he somehow managed to drag the portable generator from the runabout, fresh burns on his arm and shoulder. Clearly he was stronger than his wiry frame looked.

"Are we - " began Jake, second guessing if he should ask it. He already knew the answer, and he didn't want it confirmed. But he knew how dangerous it was to be naive. Not when death was so close. "Are we safe?"

"No." Bashir didn't soften the blow at all. Jake closed his eyes, but a tug on his arm made him open them again. He found himself locked into the burning eyes of the man. This was a new Bashir, one he wouldn't like to met in a back walkway after the lights had been dimmed on the station. Jake imagined he wore that look in surgery when he was going to lose a patient, and he had to fight for them, bending the rules of life and death to his command. A look that seemed impossible for a man who was embarrassed about carrying Jake to safety.

"You _will_ survive this."

But Jake couldn't believe him.

*

He must of fallen asleep, because when Jake woke he felt better. Slowly he pulled himself to standing, using the wall to keep himself steady. The rocks caught on his waistcoat. As he rose, a makeshift blanket made out of a jacket fell off him. The world did not spin, but black spots momentarily took over his vision, blinding him. Head rush. His stomach complained loudly, and Jake realised he couldn't remember the last time he ate.

As the dancing spots dissolved out, Jake looked at the room for the first time. Well, maybe 'room' was a bit optimistic. It was a large carven, damp and dark. The corners were the lanterns couldn't reach were lost in a deep inky black. Faintly, he could hear a drip-drip-drip of water landing in a pool. Humanoid mounds covered the floor, some injured, some just exhausted. Along the far side, the worst patients lay in beds, PADDs hooked up to them as makeshift monitors showing their vitals. Equipment was scattered about, everything they had salvaged before they fled. It didn't look like enough.

Jake picked the jacket off the floor, and began to pick his way across the cave. Some of the sleeping figures he recognised, others lost in the blur that was the last couple of days. There was less people than in the hospital. He wondered how many had lost their lives in the move.

On the edge of the room he found Doctor Bashir. The man had taken his Starfleet top off and was using it as a makeshift pillow against the cold rough ground. The bright blue of the uniform made his face look even more washed out, almost white. Every now and again he twitched, face cast into a frown. Jake wondered how doctors could ever have a peaceful night sleep after the horrors they saw. He wondered if he would ever get one either after this. Not wanting to wake him - who knew when the next opportunity for him to sleep might come again - Jake placed the jacket over the man's shoulders. He turned in his sleep, his hand grabbing the sleeve and pulling it towards his chest, like a teddy bear.

Jake moved off, walking towards the beds at the far end. Someone he failed to see before was standing over a patient, the blue teal of her medical uniform a beacon to him. She noticed Jake's approach and put her tricorder down. She gave him a thin lipped smile that barely reached the corner of her mouth, let alone her eyes. She had been young before the Klingons attacked, but now her eyes told the tales of the horror she had seen. He suspected his eyes looked the same. They would never be young again.

"Do you need any help?" he asked. Not that he could do much. He was not a doctor or a nurse, hell he could barely use a skin replicator. But he needed to keep busy to drown out the noise in his head.

"You could get me twenty more doctors and a sick bay. I've heard the nearest is five light years away." The humour fell flat, and she sighed, dragging a hand though her short hair. It stood up in sharp points from the grease, sweat and blood. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine." Jake said, like anything in this situation could count as fine.

"If you're serious about helping you can go around and check everyone is still breathing. I can't - " she faltered. Jake gave her a small smile, saying he understood. Not that she saw it, she had already turned away, her eyes fixed on the tricorder. It shook in her hand.

Aware she wanted to be alone, Jake decided to start on the other side of the room. He picked up a spare tricorder, setting it to vitals - something he learnt to do only a day ago. It was a boring, repetitive job, but Jake set his whole mind on it, refusing to let a stray thought in. Terrified he would break down completely if he did. Each time it showed a heartbeat he felt a wave of relief. One more person he didn't have to carry off and dump like a bag of rotting potatoes.

He nearly got around the whole cave before he found a body the tricorder couldn't get a lock on. He called the doctor (nurse? ensign? he hadn't asked her rank, it didn't seem important anymore) over, and she snatched the tricorder out his hands, cursing as she got the same result.

She all but threw the device back at him, before kneeling down and trying to find a pulse. After a moment, she fell back down onto the heels of her feet, defeated.

"Shouldn't you try CPR or something?" Jake asked, softly.

She shook her head. "Been too long."

He wanted to scream try goddamnit. He wanted to scream a lot. All that anger from before wasn't gone, never going to be gone. But he breathed it down. He needed to keep a cool head. He couldn't lose it again. He looked down at the body, wondering what the person was like. Kind? Sweet? Or rough? Was he angry at the world too? Did he have a family? A home? Is this how he thought he was going to die? Forgotten in a dingy cave behind enemy lines? No. Who wanted to leave the world like that?

Jake tapped his companion on the shoulder and she jerked. Her face was empty, like a village whose flood defences were about to break.

"We should move the body before people start to wake." Jake suggested as it became clear she was in no state of mind to make decisions. She nodded jerkily, moving to the body's feet. Reluctantly, Jake took the shoulders, wrapping his arms through the corpses stiff ones.

"On three." He said, on auto pilot. "One... two... three."

With a groan, they lifted the body. It formed a v shape between them, and the head lolled forward. Jake found himself staring at the harsh line where the buzz cut reached the hair. Half healed scars crisscrossed his neck. Shrapnel wounds. They must of missed one. Made a mistake, and a piece of metal pierced a vital organ. He must of died slowly, in agony. He must - it didn't matter anymore. He was dead. Jake learnt days ago it was better not to think about the fact the corpse once had a soul, it had once been more than an empty shell. It made it easier.

They began to move in a slow shuffle. The Starfleet officer lead the way. Like him, she didn't look down at the body as they travelled. The minutes it took felt like hours.

Then there they were. Unceremoniously they dropped the body on top of a pile. This cavern was smaller, and almost pitch black. Jake was glad - he didn't want to see how many bodies were already there.

"Moving wasn't good for them." She explained, her eyes that had refused to look at the body while carrying it now were transfixed on the pile. Then she broke. "I'm not meant to be here! I don't want to die on some planet light years away from home. I want to start a family. Get married. I want - " she burst into tears, and Jake awkwardly pulled her against his chest. She buried her face into his clothes, her spiky hair tickling his face. This had been him. This was still him. "I want to go home."

She said it like a prayer, and Jake found himself crying with her. Hot salty tears that left tracks down his dirty cheeks. Snot ran down his nose. Like his companion had buried her face into his chest, he buried it into his hair. For a moment all they did was cry, and Jake found himself lost. She was his only anchor. A reminder that he was not alone.

Then she began to talk, slowly at first, then faster, like she wanted someone to know. Someone to remember her when she died.

She was only in the second year of the academy, a placement to see how medical treatment was conducted in far out planets. Then the Klingons attacked. She got promoted when Higgs ("or was it MacLeod? Too many gone.") died. She wasn't meant to be in a war zone. And he held her, until she ran out of steam, and tears, but the pain was still there.

He didn't think it would ever leave them.

*

One of the problems with the cave was the lack of privacy. So, as Jake ate a meal ration - now there was no replicators, another problem with the cave - he could easily hear the argument erupting down a passageway. They kept their voices down, their words only vague mumblings to everyone's ears, but they could still hear the anger and heat in them easily.

Jake knew what they were arguing about - everyone knew what they were arguing about. What to do next. For the moment they were safe, but they only had a finite supply of food and medicine. In fact, the only thing they had plenty of was the water that seemed to drip off every wall, and even then the sterilising tablets would eventually run out. Though Bashir had pointed out they would die of starvation long before that happened.

Sometimes the doctor didn't seem to understand that what he was saying wasn't helpful.

"I wish they could just make up their minds." Kirby sighed. Jake and him were having lunch together, if one could call it lunch. Unlike Jake - who was already fed up with military rations - he was having no problems chopping through the bar in his hands. He was nearly finished, while Jake was only taking nibbles. The food felt heavy in his stomach. What he would give for one of his Dad's home cooked meals! His mouth began to water just at the thought of it.

"They just want to do the right thing." Jake defended. Sometimes he wished Kirby and him could talk about more than just the war, but it was the only thing they had in common. Only thing he had in common with anyone here. And even if they did talk about anything else, Jake would still be thinking about the Klingons somewhere on the planet's surface. They had probably  already defeated the Starfleet ground forces above. Already claimed as a part of the Klingon Empire.

"But it would be damn nice if they didn't spend the whole time arguing about it." Jake nodded, grimly.

Life had slowed down, with no new patients coming in, and the ones who had survived were fairly stable. It should of been a good thing, but Jake found himself trapped in his own thoughts. He didn't even have his PADD to write in, left behind when they fled the hospital.

The yelling stopped, and Jake hoped they had come to some of agreement. Then Bashir stormed back into the cave, his face in a frown, and Jake felt it be dashed.

He walked towards the table, and Kirby, taking one look at the doctor's face, shoved the rest of his ration in his mouth and hurried off. As he left, he gave Jake a cheeky "good luck" that Jake prayed Bashir didn't hear. While everyone claimed he was better than when he first came to the station, the doctor still had a hard time getting jokes. Especially those at his expense.

Bashir claimed the seat Kirby had just vacated looking tired and frustrated. His face and neck had a light scattering of stubble on and he scratched at it angrily. That beard made him look older. Hid the last remaining youthful curves of his face. Jake suspected his own patchy stubble had the opposite effect, it's inability to grow evenly showing his age.

Jake offered him a food ration and Bashir took it, gratefully. He opened the packet efficiently and took a large bit. His nose wrinkled up at the taste.

"I could do with some tea right now," he said, wistfully, "or maybe some of O'Brien's whiskey." He stared at his ration intently, like if he looked at it for long enough he could rearrange the atoms and get his desired drink.

"We could all do with that." Bashir looked at him sharply and for a moment he was a spitting image of Jake's father.

"Are you even legal?" Bashir asked, and while he asked Jake pretty much the same question only a days before, he couldn't hold it against him. That shuttle ride was like a long lost memory.

"I'm eighteen." Bashir kept looking at him. "Well, _nearly_. On the seventeenth" He amended.

"Remind me to buy you your, um, _first_ drink then." He said it with a grin his face, no doubt heard the tale of Odo catching Nog and him with stolen booze on the promenade.  Jake found his grin infectious, and soon his own lips were mirroring it. For a moment he almost forgot about the Klingons.

Almost.

But the moment past too quickly. Doctor Kalandra walked back into the room, and Bashir's smile slid off his face like a smashed egg. She made a point not to look at them, instead marching across the room to the promoted trainee Jake had cried with the day before. He never got her name.

"What were you arguing about?" He involuntarily moved closer, his journalist side breaking out. He was surprised it was still there; he thought he lost it with the bombs. Bashir sighed, pulling a hand through his hair.

"She wants us to move further into the caves."

"And you don't?" Another time Jake might of found it funny : there was a war going on and this was the biggest story of the day. Their own little bubble that was going to pop at anytime.

"Of course I don't!" Bashir cried. He leant forwards and closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath he pulled himself back together again. When he opened them again, he was Julian Bashir : the logical, level headed doctor. "People are stable. If we move them again, we risk losing more."

"But we can't just wait here until we die."

Bashir sighed again. He did that a lot these days. Jake wondered if he too hated the way the seconds seemed to stretch on, giving everyone too much time to think. "I know. But we can't just wander into the caves with no idea where we're going either."

"So what do we do?"

Bashir put his head in his arms. "I don't know."

Jake couldn't believe what he was hearing. The man in front of him was a genius and a Starfleet officer! If he didn't know what to do, how the hell were they going to survive this. ( _They won't_ a cruel voice whispered in Jake's head.) He was going to say something, yell at him until he came out with some plan to save them all, but one look at Bashir's despairing face and his anger died. He couldn't expect miracles and he couldn't be annoyed at someone who didn't have answers that he couldn't work out either.

Abruptly he put down his barely nibbled ration and stood up. "I'm going for a walk."

The doctor opened his mouth, but no objections came forth. Jake wanted him to say something, even if it was weak, to make him stay. Something to tell him he was needed somewhere. Instead he just closed his mouth.

Jake turned away, feet heavy and mind a whirlwind. Maybe a walk would do some good.

*

"Hey Kirby." Jake called, moving through the people. His friend turned around, a rucksack on his back and a wide grin on his face. "Whatcha doing?"

"I thought you were meant to be a journalist. Aren't you meant to hear things?"

"My lobes must not be working." Jake joked - his first joke in what felt like a decade. Sadly, it was unlikely Kirby had seen a Ferengi outside a holoprogram, let alone knew how they felt about their lobes, and was rewarded with a strange look. Maybe he thought the stress of war was finally catching up with him and making him crazy.

"So what are you doing?" He said, quickly, hoping the other boy would forget his last comment.

"Sending me and Harris into the caves to see where they go. Looks like Bashir and Kalandra finally reached an agreement."

"Whose Harris?" The name didn't sound familiar, and he followed Kirby's hand to a bald, mustard clad man.

"He's only got one eye!" exclaimed Jake. An eye patch covered his left eye, obviously they had fled the hospital before they could give him a bionic one.

"But he's apparently a damn good tracker." Jake looked doubtful. It didn't seem right to send them into the unmapped cave system with so little cover. What if they bumped into some Klingons - they wouldn't stand a chance. Kirby, seeing his expression, and clapped an arm around his shoulders.

"Don't worry about me. This is my time to be a hero."

Jake's frown deepened. "I'm not a hero." He snapped. He didn't mean to say it so angrily, but he was so damn tired of people saying that to him. He wished everyone would forget the whole thing. What he did was an act of a coward, a desperate bid to stay alive just a couple of seconds longer. He shouldn't be put on a pedestal for it. They should turn away from him in disgust.

"So modest." He went to ruffle Jake's hair, but the younger boy ducked out the way. He was always so annoying, unable to leave the damn thing alone. "Thanks to you were not all prisoners. If that's not a hero, I don't know what is."

Jake sighed. He didn't want to argue, not if it was the last time he saw Kirby. They had known each other for less than a week, but Jake felt like they had been friends for life. It was odd, the bonds made when carrying bodies, dead or dying. "Well, come back with good news soon so they'll talk about you for a change."

Kirby raised two fingers to his forehead, a devil may care smile on his face. Jake wished he didn't know it was fake. "Aye, aye Captain."

*

Jake had a good imagination. It was essential if you wanted to be a fiction author. That did mean, however, it was all too easy to picture everything that could go wrong with the survey team. His thoughts varied from the ridiculous - like the two of them bumping into the hidden, undiscovered natives of the planet  who had the power to remove the Klingon threat from the surface only using the power of their minds - to the much more likely.

Like the Klingons finding them.

Like the roof of the cave they're walking down collapsing on them.

Like -

"Are you cold?"

Jake jumped, his heart rate speeding up. Even though he recognised Doctor Bashir's voice, he knew it wasn't a Klingon coming to kill him. A Klingon wouldn't speak before they attacked. He twisted his head up to look at the doctor's concerned face. One hand was hidden behind his back.

"A bit." Much more than a bit. This cave was much cooler than the carefully controlled environmental settings of DS9, and his bedroom, which he set even warmer. He hated going to sleep cold, but now he was painfully used to it.

"Well, you're in luck." Bashir grinned and pulled a mass of material from behind his back. It unravelled from the neatly folded square, and for a moment he wondered if Bashir had folded it just for him, before dismissing it. The thought of the doctor taking valuable time to fold clothes for him felt so silly that he must of found it that way. Though why someone would leave a folded command jacket on the floor seemed just as ridiculous.

Jake took it from the man, and slipped it on. It was made specially to keep in heat, and Jake felt warmer the moment it was on. While it was clearly not made for someone as skinny as him, it was long enough. A rarity, at Jake's height he had learnt only clothes out a replicator would work. He closed it up, his fingers awkwardly doing up the heavy buttons. There was some blood on one of the sleeves. He ignored that.

Bashir took a seat next to him, his legs crossed Indian style. He looked so pleased with himself. "It's a Captain's jacket. Made popular by Jean-Luc Picard himself."

Suddenly the jacket didn't feel as warm. He knew what Picard did, what happened. He was there, even if it was a blur. Like his dad, he tried to remember the man was assimilated by the Borg collective at the time. And, like his dad, he couldn't quite allow that to absolve him.

Bashir misread his frown. "If you don't like it, I can get you something else. I think there are some spare jumpsuits hanging around. Except if you're worried about the blood on it. I heard lemon is good. Of course we don't have any lemon so I just used water. Not the drinking water of course. It was - "

"No." Jake reassured the doctor, cutting off his ramblings. His babbling showed how uncomfortable Bashir was, and Jake knew the only way to stop the word vomit coming out of his mouth was to interrupt him. He could only hope it was better than most people's shut up. "I like it."

The doctor gave him a wide grin. While Jake couldn't understand why Bashir looked so proud, he returned the smile. A weak imitation, but nobody complained.

"So, do I want to know where you got this?" Jake asked, more to fill up the silence than because he wanted to know.

Bashir shook his head. He tried to put a serious expression on, but he couldn't quite wipe the grin off his face. It seemed strange that even now simple things like giving a gift could make someone happy. Jake didn't think it was right to be happy. He hadn't been happy since he landed on this forsaken planet. He kept his mouth closed.

"It's better if you didn't ask."

Polite smile. A "uh-huh". A moment past. Then another. Jake wondered why Bashir was still sitting there. Maybe he found the silence comfortable, but for him it was just awkward. He wanted to break it again, but he had nothing to say.

Finally the doctor spoke. "Kirby's going to be fine. He'll be back before you notice he's gone."

But Jake had already noticed. Bashir put a hand on his shoulder and Jake jumped. Instead of being reassuring, like the doctor no doubt intended, it made him feel more uncomfortable. He didn't want Bashir to feel like he had to look after him. Jake didn't deserve that. Not from someone he left to die.

They sat like that for a while. Jake told himself he was glad when Bashir stood to go on shift.

 

*

"I'm sorry Benjamin, but there's nothing I can do."

"Like hell. You can let me take the _Defiant_ to Ajilon Prime and save my son."

"The _Defiant_ already went against the fleet above the planet and lost. Badly. It was lucky any of you came back at all. Your Chief Engineer reports it would take a week just to fix her up so you stand a chance."

"Then give me another ship!"

"Even if I could - which you know full well I cannot - Ajilon Prime is now under Klingon rule. A Federation ship approaching it could break the cease fire."

"They already broke the cease fire!"

"And we negotiate another one. Communication with the Empire is the best way to get your son back now Ben. I really am sorry."

\- TRANSMISSION ENDED -

"Like hell I'm leaving this to anyone else. Sisko to O'Brien : how much can you take off that week?"


	2. Part Two : The Capture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re-reading this like boy it gets grim.  
> Fun fact about the author : Doctor Bashir is one of my favourite characters in DS9 but I hate his posh accent. Like I know it's just the actor's accent but it makes him sound like a wanker.
> 
> Also the chapters are exponentially getting longer and longer.

It was Bashir's idea who, upon seeing Jake spend hours on end staring at the same rock, suggested he talked to the soldiers. "You're a journalist!" He grinned. "Get their stories."

Jake didn't see why these hardened men and women would want to talk to him, and he had no way of recording them except for his faulty memory even if they did spill their sorrows to a seventeen year old kid. But, the boredom overcame him.

He was surprised how eager the patients were to talk. For every one who told him to get lost, two more would usher him over instead. He became an outlet for their feelings. Like the make shift counsellor before they got real therapy once home.

The stories they did give him varied, some desperate to talk about the battle, some desperate to talk about anything but the battle. They all mentioned loved ones. Partners and parents. Siblings and best friends. Children. Jake made a list in his head of the names, and when it became too long he scratched it on the surface of the cave walls. Maybe, sometime in the future, archaeologists will find it, and wonder what happened here. They'll find the bones next door, and more in the main hospital. They might mistake it for a list of the dead.

Somebody should of wrote one of those. Too late now.

Jake was talking to one of the patients, a man with wild eyes that looked more like a Viking then a Starfleet Officer, when the Klingons attacked.

He thought the world was going to freeze as they came bursting in, disrupters drawn. It didn't. Instead it sped up.

Orders barked out. Rearrangement. Somebody crying. What was he meant to do? He wanted to run. He knew if he did, he would be shot.

A hand on his arm. Pulling, no, _guiding_. Bashir's. He pushed Jake behind him. He wanted to tell the doctor he didn't need protection. That he wasn't going to run. Both of those would be a lie.

The leader - a tall, dark Klingon with his long wavy hair lose - surveyed the huddle masses. While his weapon was in his hand, it was lowered. Clearly he did not see them as a threat.

"The wounded," he laughed, throwing his head back and showing his sharp, rotten teeth. "I expected more from the last group found."

Bashir squeezed his hand reassuringly, and Jake suddenly realised he was clinging onto the doctor's for dear life. Another time he would of let go, embarrassed. Not now. Not when he was so close to death he could smell its bad breath.

_Please_ he prayed in his head. His family was originally catholic. His grandfather still owned a crucifix in his house, hung in the living room. As a child, he remembered sitting on the floor cross legged and gazing up at it, wondering why anyone would chose to worship a man being killed. His grandfather had no answer, instead told him it was a celebration of their family history. Jake had never learnt the story of that dead man hung up, but in that moment he prayed to that cross, begged him to save him.

A shoot, loud and echoing around the cavern, pulled him out his thoughts. Bright, burning. Who did that? A cry. It didn't matter. He was dead.

The confrontation lasted only seconds. The human - and Jake realised with a lurch it was the man he had been talking to only seconds (minutes? hours?) before - had been shot. A disruptor burn neatly replaced where the heart once was. He'd fallen backwards, his dead eyes still open. The Klingon leader, however, was fine. The phaser burn on the wall was miles off.

"He died an honourable death." said the leader. Jake knew he meant unlike them. "Come."

Bashir seemed to try and hide Jake from view with his body, but being taller than the doctor meant it was unsuccessful.  Still, having someone try made him feel better about this whole messed up situation. He wasn't on his own. He kept pace with Bashir, their bodies rubbing against each other with every step. He clung to the man's arm, not even feeling silly at doing such a childish action.

Behind them, the sound of shots being fired rang out. The Klingons killing those who could not walk. Bashir flinched at everyone. Jake just kept his head down. He was glad it wasn't him.

The pace the Klingons set them at was almost a jog, uncaring that the group was far from their best shape. However, those who could help those who couldn't. Even though nobody knew each other a week ago, war had turned them into a close knit unit.

"How do you think they found us?" Jake whispered, voice barely a whisper so the gun carrying guards wouldn't hear. Bashir didn't turn to face him, and Jake wondered if he didn't hear. He was still trying to weigh up the risks of trying again when the doctor replied.

"Maybe they scanned the planet? Or - " he cut off, and while Jake could only see the profile of his face, the uncomfortable look was obvious. It suddenly struck him, followed by heavy guilt. He had completely forgotten about his friend.

" - or maybe they found Kirby." Jake finished for him.

"It's a possibility." He would much rather imagine them safe, looking for a way out of the cave. With extra rations they could survive the whole Klingon invasion underground. Starfleet could find them and they could go home, alive and happy. But as much as Jake would like to believe that, the image of Kirby laying dead on the floor, dried blood around him, eyes open in an unseeing gaze, was much stronger. Every corner the group grimly turned as they marched their way through the cave, Jake expected to see him. But they reached the end of the caves without his vision coming true.

The planet was bright. Midday. The survivors, who had only lanterns on power saving mode to guide them, covered their eyes from the merciless, burning sunlight. The Klingons did not have the same problem, and did not slow down their pace. The group stumbled blindly until their eyes adjusted, unwilling to be shot by their captures for slowing the group down.

Walking through the grassy, bumpy terrain was harder than that of the smooth caves. Those at the back tried to slow down, only to be pushed forward by the tip of the disruptors. One woman - elderly, a colonist - fell with a grunt, her foot catching in a hole.

The guard, instead of helping her up, pulled out his pistol. "Get up." He barked. She tried to, moaning in pain as she put pressure on her ankle and falling back to the floor.

"He won't kill her," Bashir whispered to Jake, leaning closer while everyone else was distracted, "it wouldn't be honourable." But the teenager thought he could hear a note of uncertainty in his voice. These Klingons were not Worf. This was war, where rules were twisted. Honour did not matter miles away from civilisation, with prisoners.

The Klingon barked the same order again, and Jake felt Bashir lurch forward. Jake clutched harder at his arm, stopping him. The man in front of him was trying to protect an injured woman, and all Jake could think about was himself. His hand was not clutching the doctor to keep him safe, no, it was so he did not have to be alone. He couldn't do this without him. For a moment Bashir dithered, the doctor side fighting with the side saying he had to protect Sisko's son. Only when Doctor Kalandra broke formation, driven by the same selflessness as Bashir to help those before their own safety, did Jake relax, his hand losing.

As she stepped forward, every gun was trained on her. The message was clear : _one wrong move and you'll be filled with holes, human_.

"Get back into line." The Klingon by the woman grunted. Doctor Kalandra only raised her hands, slowly, a sign of surrender in many humanoid species. Her body said hear me out, I can solve this.

"Let me help her up." She sounded so calm, her voice not even wavering. Like she was the one in control. Jake would of, well, he would of never got himself in this situation in the first place. The guilt he carried like a weight on his back clawed at him harder. An old friend he wished would leave him be.

"Get back into line." The Klingon by the injured woman took a step forward.

If this was one of Jake's stories it would be a ruse. The injured would jump up, killing the Klingons and starting a revolt. This little rag-tag group would single handily free the planet from the invaders and go home heroes.

But this was reality.

The woman stayed on the floor, moaning softly. But the doctor stood her ground. "Let me help her. Or do you just want to stand there pointing your gun at her all day?" Her voice was sharp and commanding. He'd heard her use it before on unruly patients and orderlies, a voice that made Jake glad she was not his mother.

The Klingon growled, baring his sharp fangs. She didn't flinch - Jake did for her. "Do not talk to me like that, human." He took another step forward, his gun only inches away from her chest. From her heart. Jake looked away, unwilling to see another death.

"Let her help." The voice was the booming one of the leader. Everyone felt compelled to face him under such power, but he did not suffer from stage fright. For a moment, the other Klingon just looked at him, a power of wills. "Unless you want to shoot two unharmed women. How very _brave_ of you."

He laughed, and the other Klingons joined in. They thought their lives were a joke! Jake felt his blood heat up, but no anger burst from his lips. Only his right hand closed into a fist, so tight his skin turned white. His uncut finger nails dug into his palm, but the pain was nothing.

The only Klingon not laughing was the butt of  the joke. Slowly he moved it away from Doctor Kalandra's chest, letting it point harmlessly to the ground. He glared as her as she hurried past him, but she paid him no mind, her eyes focused only on her patient. After she got the woman back on her feet, leaning heavily against her, the progression started again. A death march.

"How was she not scared?" Jake asked to Bashir once he was sure the _stomp-stomp-stomp_ of everyone's feet against hard ground hid his voice. He couldn't stop the wistful tone seep into his voice.  She must have a trick or a gift. Something she was born with that made her so much stronger than everyone else. So much stronger than _him_.

But Bashir dashed his hopes with a shake of his head. "She was terrified." Jake opened his mouth to deny it, but the doctor carried on confidently. "But the need to do the right thing was more important to her."

Jake looked away from him, biting his lip. Each word was a knife to the gut. Bashir thought he was a hero, thought he was like Doctor Kalandra. The truth was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't form the words. Every time he tried, they turned to dust, coating his mouth and throat. Choking him.

By the time they reached a small village, bomb torn and falling down, the words still hadn't found their way out. The Klingons stopped in the middle of the square abruptly. The prisoners took longer, the lack of sleep, food and water slowing their brains down. Finally the whole progression was motionless.

Through the people packed in front of him, Jake could see citizens of the latest Klingon conquest slow down to look at them, none daring to stop. There was rules in the Empire : no more than three to a meet up; stopping less than two meters apart counts as a protest; punishment was death. Some of them desperately sought out faces, eyes taking in everyone in the crowd. Others just took in the whole crowd as one, grimly.

"Civilians are allowed free under the rule of the Klingon Empire." The leader's voice boomed out. For a moment no one moved, then slowly the first citizens moved out. Not many - while there was villagers at the hospital, it was mostly the army. He saw a couple out of uniform leave to, as well as doctors and nurses in scrubs, their uniform and badges left in the cave. The woman who had fallen limped out, her white hair falling around her. Jake wondered how long she would survive under the Klingon rule - probably longer than the officers would.

"Go," hissed Bashir, and Jake suddenly realised he could move. His legs felt like lead as he took a shaky step forward and then another. He turned, wanting to say something to Bashir. Goodbye sounded too final, like he would never see the man again, and thank you didn't begin to cover it. But, before he could find the words - and he was aware of the irony in a speechless author - a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. His legs buckled under him, and he would of fallen if the hand wasn't holding him in place.

"Do you think me a fool?" A voice growled from above his ear. Just the sound sent his legs to jelly.

"N-no," stammered Jake, amazed he managed to get anything else. He craned his neck around to see the Klingon - and it was strange, unusual for his six foot growing frame - and immediately wished he hadn't. He'd never seen a Klingon so close before, not even Worf. The forehead ridges stood out like knifes. The eyes, wild and black had a bloodlust a war couldn't cure. The fangs were sharp enough to rip out his throat, the breath around them vile.

"Then get back into line."

"B-but I'm not S-starfleet." He couldn't stop shaking. The Klingon laughed, throwing his head back, each chuckled vibrating through Jake like an earthquake.

"You do think me a fool! I recognise the uniform." For a second, he had no idea what he was talking about, his mind too busy screaming at him to _run goddamit, run_. Then his heart sunk to his feet. Of course! He was still wearing the captain's jacket. But how could this Klingon think he was in command. He was seventeen years old! Hell, he couldn't buy alcohol yet, to think they would let him lead a ship into battle. But none of that came out. Instead his mouth flopped open and closed like a fish, desperate to find air, already knowing it was dead. He was usually so good at this, getting Nog and him out of many a potentially dangerous situations, but now even the simple truth escaped him.

Luckily Bashir came to his rescue - again.

"It's not his. I gave it to him." He protested. The Klingon merely looked down at him, a smirk twisting his ugly face.

"Your lies will not help him."

"There not lies! Look at him, he is a kid!" Normally Jake would turn his nose up at anyone who called him a kid, but at this moment, all he did was nod his head in agreement. _Please please please_ he chanted in his head in a continuous mantra.

"He is old enough to die," he snarled, and Jake's mouth somehow turned drier. He could hear the threat, but before Bashir could argue more and get them both killed, Jake squeaked out :

"You're right." Bashir looked at him sharply, but Jake didn't want to die. Not now. And if he could push it off for a couple more minutes, hours, days, he would.

"Then get back." The Klingon pushed him roughly, clearly disappointed that he couldn't rip them to shreds with his bat'leth. Jake flew  backwards and he hit the doctor in a tangle of limbs. As they pulled apart, Bashir's face held none of the annoyance he was expecting, just concern in every deep line of his face.

"Stay with me." Jake nodded, not trusting his voice to speak. Anyway, where else could he go?

They were marched into a building that looked like it once had been a shipping warehouse. The Klingons pushed the remaining survivors into the room and closed the doors behind them. A loud boom echoed around the room as they slid a deadbolt into place, and Jake shivered.

While there had once been florescent lights hanging from the ceiling, they had been removed, leaving only empty brackets swinging high above them. Now the only light source came through the windows. These were high up on the walls meaning there was no chance of escape for the prisoners, even though a couple had been smashed open. If it was due to the battle, or because this place had already been in disrepair, Jake could not tell.

The frames, which were once used to store the cargo until it was taken off world, had been pushed against the wall, blocking all the other exits. One could climb up these to exit through the windows, however the fall the other side would be fatal. In the middle of the room was the Starfleet personal. Officers of all ranks and colours stood, sat and lay around the room. Some looked them over, while others ignored them, carried on doing whatever the hell they could do in this room. The smell of people living in close quarters was unbearable.

Jake scrunched up his nose, and when he turned he saw Doctor Bashir had a similar reaction to the smell. It was only a moment later that Jake realised they probably smelt just as bad. He couldn't remember the last time he had a shower, or washed his clothes. As he got used to his own stench, he was sure he would get used to this one. That thought was not as comforting as he hoped.

He followed Bashir like a lost puppy as the man threaded through the crowd. Once he found a space large enough for the both of them, he sat down, Jake copying. For a second, neither said anything. Jake's brain was whirling, still trying to process everything that happened today. Pinpointing when _I'm going to die any minute_ became _I'm going to die any second_. While sleepiness clawed at him, he was reluctant to close his eyes. The nightmares which plagued him were going to be worse tonight.

It was Bashir who broke the silence first. He was looking at his hands - around his nails and in the cracks of his skin, other peoples' blood still lingered, not yet washed off - and he bit his lip. "I'm sorry." He blurted out, guilt laced his voice. Jake wanted to laugh. Bashir didn't know guilt, he thought he did, but he didn't. He would never leave a man to die. But the doctor didn't give him time to voice his sins, his eyes staying locked on his interlocked fingers.

"I shouldn't of given you that damn jacket! There was enough civilian clothes to give you. I just thought it would make you smile. Make you think of your dad. And now you're in an even worse situation."

Jake hadn't realised thought had gone behind the gift. Then, before this, all he knew about Bashir was what other people had told him : young, arrogant and socially awkward. And he was those without a shred of doubt, but also kind and brave and _thoughtful_. While war brought out the worst in him, it brought out the best in the doctor. Jake hated him a bit for that, for being everything Jake wasn't.

He shook his head, pulling the jacket tighter around him. "You didn't know it would happen." It sounded fake even to him, and he wondered if Bashir heard it to. If it wasn't for the man he wouldn't be here, it was all his fault. If it wasn't for Jake he wouldn't be here, it was all _his_ fault.

"I should of known." Bashir all but spat it out, the self hatred clear in his voice. Jake thought _yes, you should_ , instead he said :

"How could you of known?" His voice was soft, betraying nothing. The doctor's and his roles have been changed. Did Bashir lie though his teeth as he offered comfort? Did he know what Jake really was?

The doctor didn't answer, the frown on his face deepening. Mimicking how Bashir comforted him, Jake placed a hand on the man's shoulder. He stayed tense, but his eyes found Jakes. They swam with emotions that Jake didn't want to try and name. He didn't know the man well enough. He wanted to. All his conflicting emotions jumbling around his insides and that was only one thing he knew for sure. He'd never wanted to before, even though he was the only member of the sensor staff close to his age on the station. Jadiza's playfulness, Kira's hard ass attitude, and O'Brien's jokes were a lot more appealing than Doctor Bashir's awkwardness. But, and this may be the only positive thing Jake could find about this whole ordeal, it strengthened ties with those around you. He had to tell him. He couldn't let the man crumble for him.

"Doctor Bashir." He began, using both his title and name to give himself more time. He expected Bashir to correct him, to call him 'doctor' or even 'Julian' like that infamous incident with Chief O'Brien, but he didn't interrupt him. Jake exhaled slowly. "I left - "

"You boys aren't goin' to last a day." The voice was loud, easily blocking out Jake's confession. They both turned to him, feeling more relief than annoyance ( _see, I tried_ a voice in his head said _fate doesn't want me to speak_ ). The man was yellow clad and as Southern as his accent. If you gave the man a fat cigar he could be straight from a history book about cowboys. He even had the hat, and Jake wondered how he managed to keep that in a war zone.

"Excuse me?" Next to the other man, Bashir sounded a lot more British and posh.

"I said," he purposefully slowed down his voice, "you boys aren't going to last a day."

All the emotions that had only seconds ago been flooding Bashir's eyes were gone, replaced by a cool mask. A look that Jake had seen on many a Starfleet officer before.

"And why's that?" His voice was as cold as a knife, but Jake was sure he heard a hint of curiosity under it.

"All that weakness just pourin' out of you, the other prisoners will gobble you up." His eyes shone, like he was already picturing the scene and getting pleasure out of it.

"Other prisoners?" Jake found it hard to believe the man was talking about Starfleet - they stuck together. But who else could it possibly be? Was this some sort of threat? He didn't like the idea that it wasn't just the Klingons he had to look out for. The doctor had leant closer to the mustard clad officer, not wanting to miss a single word, but Jake kept his distance. He didn't trust the man.

"Do ya boys know nothing? Where we're going, you need to have some wits 'bout you."

"Going where?" Bashir said, voice laced with impatience.

"I thought doctors were meant to be clever." He grumbled, and if the insult effected Bashir in anyway, he did not show it. Not even a blink, or a frown. "Prison camps. Need the healthy to mine. Apparently it's hell on this plane of existence. Not that I'll live long." He held up his arm, and Jake's stomach lurched at the sight of it ending in a stump. If he had any food in him, he would of thrown it up. The end was charred black - the only advantage being it was so burnt there was no blood around it. He thought of the man he found at the bottom of a ditch, guts spilling out into his hands. The countless patients coming in, covered in red and green and blue. He thought the blood was the worst; he wished he hadn't been wrong.

"Damn Klingons shot it off!" He turned his wild blue eyes on Jake, taking hold of his own and refusing to let them go. He suddenly understood when the Southern seemed so unhinged. "Ever been shot with a phaser boy? On the deadly setting?"

Jake shook his head, words lost to him. The man laughed, a loud bark which turned heads to look at them. His crazy eyes imprinted on Jake's mind, and he knew he'll never forget them. "I thought not. You can tell when someone has. Once you've experienced that amount of pain it leaves a mark." His eyes let go, and Jake let out a sigh of relief.

"Of course, we may get lucky. They might just take us around the back and shoot us in the head." The man said as he stood. He took his hat off his head, wiping the sweat that had gathered under the rim with his sleeve, and knocking off dirt from the brim, before placing it back on his balding head. "Now if you boys will excuse me."

Jake watched the man weave through the crowds, his cowboy hat making it easier to follow, glad he hadn't stayed to chat for longer. He went to a far wall that everyone seemed to be huddling away from, and began to piss down the side of it. The teenager turned to Bashir, giving him some privacy. He shuddered at the thought that he, too, will have to relieve himself soon.

"Do you think he's telling the truth?" Bashir bit his lip, and Jake wondered if he was considering lying to him, before he sighed, slow and defeated.

"I'm afraid so." He said, grimly. Jake closed his eyes. He knew what the answer would be, but he hoped. It was like a curse had been placed on him the moment he'd arrived on this damn planet, and everything was just getting worse and worse.

"What do we do?" But the end of his question was lost to Bashir's loud, jaw stretching yawn.

"I don't know about you, but I wouldn't mind trying to catch some sleep." He stretched gangly arms out, and clicked his back.

Jake opened his mouth to argue, but found no fault with that plan. If there was a way out, the highly trained Starfleet officers would of found it. Not to mention he was tired. Had been for far too long. And if the cowboy was correct, they'd need all the sleep they could get.

He closed his mouth, and curled up into a small ball on the floor, head resting on a shared pillow Bashir had lay out for them. While it was still unbearably hard, it was better than the cold concrete floor underneath. Jake lay there, and at some point his pretend sleep turned real.

*

The next day came suddenly.

One moment he was in a blessed black unconsciousness, the next light was pouring in onto his face.

For a dazed moment he wondered what he was clinging onto. Something warm and solid. Jake considered pushing himself closer to the thing. Then he realised that thing was in fact Doctor Bashir. He pushed away, his cheeks stained a bright red.

He hazard a look at the other man, praying he was still asleep, blushing deeper when he saw he was not. For a second he forgot he was in a war zone, that today held unknown horrors, and possibly his death. No, he was just an awkward teenage boy again.

"You should of woken me!" He hissed. Bashir, the bastard, just grinned, amusement twinkling in his eye.

"I didn't mind." He shrugged. Jake wanted to remind him that the doctor's commanding officer was his father, but all he could do was splutter under that cheeky smile. You could cook an egg on his face.

"Well I do!" He didn't want to sit back down, instead looking around. His eyes found what his mind had dubbed 'the pee wall' and suddenly his bladder made itself known. And, once he noticed the problem, he couldn't stop. He hadn't relieved himself since the cave. He would of had to go before, but he hadn't drunk any water since the cave as well.

It was miles away from the clean, cubical toilets on the promenade on Deep Space Nine. Bashir followed that gaze, his lips still pulled into that damn smile. Jake wondered if he should be a doctor if he got that much pleasure from someone's pain.

"No one will look," assured Bashir. He was used to different conditions - his father told him all about their trip to 2024.

With no other choice than wetting himself, he stood up and made his way across the room. Many of the people were awake, the bright light of the sun streaming through the windows, forcing them up hours ago. Jake, being exhausted both mentally and physically, had managed to sleep straight through.

He got to the wall, scrunching up his nose at the smell. The edge of his boots were damp with piss, in the corner of his eye he could see human waste. It made him want to gag. Instead, he closed his eyes, and with fingers as heavy as steel he undid his flyer. He imagined he was at home, in the bathroom. It didn't work. The thought of everybody watching him made him freeze, but his body won over.

He had to crack open his eyes to aim, and the sound of his urine hitting the wall made him blush again, sure that people would look around due to the noise. It trickled down, joining the puddle at the bottom. It went on for a long time, an unstoppable stream no matter how fast he tried to push it out. It seemed wrong that his mouth was so dry, but so much liquid was coming out of him.

He felt lighter once it was gone. Even more so after he zipped himself back up turned around, seeing no one had been watching. As he hurried away, a women approached the wall. Part of Jake wondered how females would approach this problem, the other part of him sure that like him, she did not want an audience.

When he got back, Bashir was sitting up, his legs crossed in front of him Indian style. The dark circles under his eyes told Jake that he did not have as good night's sleep as him, undoubtedly spending the whole night crashing problems around his mind and coming up with no solutions. Jake did not disturb his brooding, instead he sat down next to him and tried to do some of his own. But all he could do was focus on the emptiness in his stomach. A beast clawing angrily at him. He thought he had been hungry before, now he realised that was nothing. It let out a loud complaint.

Bashir, hearing it, snapped out of his thoughts. Guilt flashed across his face, followed by concern. His eyebrows due together and his forehead crumpled with worry lines.

"When was the last time you ate?" Jake thought for a second, trying to give an exact answer he knew the other man would want.

"Breakfast, before the Klingons attacked, I guess."

Bashir's frown deepened at Jake's flippant tone. "That was thirty six hours ago!" He cried, like it was somehow the teenager's fault. He opened his mouth to complain, but before any words came out the doctor pushed something into his hand.

It was sticky, and had the consistency of blue tack, squeezing itself into the cracks in his palm. He looked down at it in confusion. A ration bar, heated up by being pressed up against a body.

"Be subtle." Bashir hissed, but Jake barely heard, already lifting the goo like substance into his mouth. Barely chewing it, he swallowed it. In a matter of seconds it was gone, leaving Jake licking his hand until the only taste left was of salty sweat. Finally sure no food was left, he turned to the man accusingly.

"Why did you not give me some before?" He was angry. No, more than angry, _furious!_ He had been suffering, and Doctor Bashir had been sitting there well fed this whole time.

"I only had one!" He defended, the sympathy that had laced his voice only seconds before replaced with his own annoyance.

"What? And you were going to keep it for yourself!" Their - well, his - raised voices were turning heads their way, but Jake couldn't care less.

"If I was going to do that, I wouldn't of given it to you. I was waiting to see if they would feed us." His voice was quiet and cool. It made Jake want to deck him - not that Jake had ever punched someone before. He was too annoyed, too hungry, too scared to give a damn at the logic of the other man's argument. He blew air through his nose and stood up. Too quickly. Black spots danced across his vision, but he refused to show weakness now, walking before he could fully see.

Oblivious to the fact his proud walk was more of a stumble he barely got two steps before hands were guiding him to sit back down on the floor.

"Don't stand up too fast." Bashir soothed. "And I'm sorry. I should have given it to you earlier. You're not Starfleet - you're not prepared for this kind of thing."

From a look around the room, Jake wasn't sure Starfleet was prepared for this kind of thing either. He hunched up his shoulders. "You should be." He grumbled, but the anger behind his words were gone.

*

The Klingon was tall, made all the taller by the fact he was leaning over them. He bared his yellow fangs, and Jake leaned further away. At that, the alien's grin turned wider, more putrid breath blown on his face. He grabbed Bashir's shoulder with one hand, and Jake's with the other. He lifted them up like they weighed no more than dolls, placing them on their feet.

Jake's legs felt like they were made of jell-o but somehow they held his weight. His eyes were fixed on the Klingon's forehead ridges. He would never be able to look at them the same again. Before they were just a feature that made them alien, and different, now they were the promise of pain.

The hands began dragging them forward, pulling them out the warehouse, Jake's legs barely keeping him upright. They left that room, and for a moment Jake could see the street outside in bright sunlight. He had forgotten it was there. His universe turning smaller and smaller as each day passed. Those walking passed looked at them sorrowfully, but that's all they did - watch.

Jake had learnt about Klingon rule as he sat huddled on the warehouse floor. Newly acquired colonies' populations could be halved in the first week. But, as his eyes grabbed helplessly at strangers they all looked away, and Jake didn't see them as victims of an oppressive regime. He saw them as cowards. And he hated every single one of them for it.

Then they were dragged up a metal ramp and roughly thrown into a cargo bay. Jake fell to the floor with a grunt, the vibrations crashing up his arms like an earthquake, his knees crying out in pain where they hit the metal floor. A grunt next to him told of Bashir's similar fate. For a moment he just lay there, too exhausted to care of the new dangers. Too exhausted to keep going on. He wanted to fall asleep until it was all over, and he could wake up safe and sound in his bed on Deep Space Nine, his dad cooking next door.

He closed his eyes and _wished_. A desperate plea to anyone who might be listening. Not like when his father brought out a birthday cake, telling him to blow out the candles, a wide grin on his face. Then he would wish for good presents that year, or to see the crocodile that guarded his grandfather's restaurant. He thought he wanted those things, but now he realised he didn't even know what 'want' was. After a second of pushing everything he was into this one wish, prayer, _beg_ he opened his eyes.

The metal floor was still under him.

Slowly he lifted his head up, casting his eyes around the new hell he found himself in. It was dark, only dim red lights fighting through a thick fog allowed Jake to see his surroundings. Squinting, he could almost see the back wall of the cargo bay. Much like in the warehouse, people in Starfleet uniform - with the bright colours on their shoulders the only easily visible thing in the room - sat and lay across the floor. Already defeated, heads hung low, the only sounds in the room their heavy breathing and the clunk on machinery from the inner workings of the ship.

He ignored Bashir as he stood, moving through the room. The hot, thick air was making it hard to breath, clogging up his throat. After a couple of yards, he had to stop, the lack of oxygen getting into his system making him dizzy. Behind him, Bashir coughed, trying to clear his body of the chemicals in the atmosphere. How could Klingons live like this? Or did they think the same when they came onto clean Federation standard vessels?

"How... do they... survive?" Jake asked, through gasps. He sat down, deciding it would be best not to do anymore exercise.

"They have different priorities." Bashir explained. "You will... get used to it." He let out another cough, covering his mouth with the inside of his elbow.

Even as the doctor said it, Jake was altering his breathing automatically, finding a way to get more air into his lungs. Still, he wouldn't be running any marathons in these conditions... or, in fact, taking more than ten steps.

"Is the whole ship like this?" The hot air was uncomfortable, the heavy jacket that was so useful in the caves and in the night air now stuck to his skin. He pulled it off, holding it in his lap. Bashir also undid the top of his jumpsuit, folding it back so it pulled around him on the floor. His black undershirt stuck to his body, and Jake could easily count his ribs. No doubt his chest looked the same. He found it hard to believe that Klingons could march all day around the ship in their full battle gear.

"It's worse down here. Most of the environmental controls are focused on the living areas rather than - " he cuts off, looking for the right word. Jake knew what he was looking for. He spat it out, his bitterness clear.

" _Cargo._ " Bashir nodded grimly.

As they were talking, more and more people were arriving. Every time the cargo door open - and Jake noted it was the perfect size for humanoid prisoners - clean air blew in. The oxygen dispersed quickly, only the closest getting a clean breath.

It was clear they were placing in everyone from the warehouse. He saw the man with the cowboy hat come in, looking around the space like he was searching for someone, before taking a spot on his own. He saw the doctors from the cave, and the patients that survived. Finally, the last person was thrown in - a blue woman with a pile of white hair twisted up on the top of her head - and the door shut and locked. The ominous 'thud' echoed around the chamber, sending a shiver through Jake's spine. Even so, the blue woman turned around and tried to pull it open with no success.

"Why does she even bother?" scowled Jake, his voice tired. He pulled his legs up to his chest tightly, wanting to hug them like with his arms, but some part of him still had pride, and he didn't want to appear as a child.

Bashir touched his knee, finding Jake's eyes and refusing to let them go. The teenager is surprised to find he was no longer unwanting of the man's touch, leaning into it. "Promise me you won't lose hope. You _will_ get out of this. Your dad is out there right now bending the universe to get you back."

And the doctor was right. His dad would do everything in his power - and probably some things that were not - to bring him back home. Just the thought cheered Jake up, chasing away some of the darker thoughts. _But_ , the voice in his head hissed, _he still won't find you._ Jake tried to ignore it, picturing his father bursting though the cargo bay doors now.

He didn't.

Bashir was looking at him, and Jake sighed. "I promise I won't lose hope." He didn't think the doctor believed him. Hell, he didn't believe himself. But he was trying. "What about you?"

While Bashir knew a lot about him - after all he worked with his dad and Jake knew the man gossiped about him, even though he claimed he didn't - he knew close to nothing about the doctor.

"Pardon?"

"Who would 'bend the universe' for you?" Jake knew Bashir and O'Brien were friends, but he couldn't imagine the engineer going off alone on a half cocked plan to save his holosuit partner, even if he didn't have a family to look after. The only other person the man spent time with - bar those he was trying to bed - was Garak. But, even though they got lunch together every week, he didn't even know if they were friends, let alone at the rescuing stage yet. (But didn't Bashir steal a shuttle craft to do just that? Jake couldn't quite remember, he had bigger things on his mind at the time, like homework and girls.) The other times the doctor had been hurt or missing nobody had run to the station, distraught.

Bashir's mind must of gone though the same process - or maybe he already knew, had always known, and that's why he took a spot on a station miles away from Earth, and the people who should be waiting there for him - as he sighed sadly.

"No one. People don't - " he cuts off, unsure on how to finish that statement. Jake always had his dad's love with him, a guiding force through the hard times, and a push to help him achieve his best. He wondered how someone could live without it. How they could get up when everything went wrong. How the first wall of resistance they accounted didn't leave them crumbled on the ground. But Bashir was still sitting in front of him.

"What about your parents?" He was meant to of written an article about Bashir, but only now, long after it was meant to be perfected and handed in, was Jake getting to know the man. It never occurred to Jake, a life time ago in the caves, getting peoples' stories to get the doctor's. He was making up for lost time.

"We aren't close." The journalist in Jake wanted to ask more, the pause before the man said it indicating a story. He had a million questions on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed them down, aware if he pressed too far the doctor may close down. Already his face held an emotionless look Jake had seen far too often in the hospital.

"Well, you have me," came out instead, the moment the words out his mouth, Jake regretting them. How cheesy did that sound? But Bashir just smiled, sadly.

"Only because I dragged you into this mess in the first place."

Before Jake could argue, the ship began to tremble wildly. No longer caring about looking like a child, Jake wrapped his arms tightly around his legs. A safe ball as every bone in his body tried to shake itself free.

"WHAT'S HAPPENING?" he screamed. He was not the only one asking that question. He thought if he had anything left in his stomach, he may throw it up. The shaking only seemed to be increasing. He clenched his teeth together, not wanting to bite his tongue off.

"WE'RE TAKING OFF!" Bashir yelled back. The engines screamed as loudly as the Federation citizens inside. Jake thought the ship may explode - no survivors. Maybe it would be for the best.

"STABILISERS?" It was hard to believe humans used to launch themselves into space like this. How did they survive? And why did they do it again?

"THEY - CHEAP - UNNECESSARY." Most of the doctor's words were lost in the chaos, and the conversation ceased until they were out of the planet's atmosphere. Jake's shouting turned into whimpers as he closed his eyes.

The hold let out a collective sigh as the shaking stopped, though if it was relief they made it or disappointment that they didn't explode, Jake didn't know. By some miracle, he managed not to vomit. Others were not so lucky, their bile hitting the decks in puddles that Jake knew would not be cleaned up.

Bashir, a doctor first, was already making sure those closest were alright. Jake watched him, feeling useless. Across the room, Doctor Kalandra was doing the same, along with the rest of the medical staff who were captured. As his eyes searched them, he found he recognised some of them. He spotted the promoted Ensign leaning against the wall, her legs pulled close to her body, face blank. Jake stood, his legs still wobbly. He was going to go to her. He may not be a doctor, but he understood what she was going through more than the hardened officers around them.

However he only made it one step before a loud creak echoed around the room. Everyone froze, convinced the ship was finally going to break apart. The nightmare over, and all it costs was their death. But the air stayed in the ship, the vacuum of space still behind the old metal walls. Instead a trough was pushed through a hole in the opposite wall that they entered from. Inside was a slop that looked like a thick oatmeal.

For a second, the occupants of the room only looked at it. Shocked, confused, minds slow from the lack of sleep. Then, like a tidal wave, they rushed towards it. Part of Jake wanted to resist, to make a point to his Klingon captures, not to mention he had eaten more recently than most of these people, but the pain in his stomach was too much, and he rushed forward with all the rest.

He fought his way to the front, uncaring of who he pushed out the way. Just the constant mantra of _food-food-food_ blocking everything else from his mind. Like an animal he shoved the gruel into his mouth with his hands. He ate and ate and ate. The gunk coated his throat, his mouth, making it hard to breath, threatening to chock him, but he couldn't stop. His stomach complained, too much, too soon. But Jake held it in. If he looked up he would of saw others were not as lucky. It was the best thing he'd ever tasted, ever will taste.

He ate until his stomach couldn't take anymore. Then he let himself be elbowed out the crowd, pushed to the back. He lay down, closing his eyes in near bliss. His sides felt like they were going to split they were so full. At this moment, it was the best feeling in the world. Stretching out the muscles in his stomach. He felt alive. Until then he didn't realise he might as well of been dead. If he kept his eyes closed he could imagine the metal floor beneath him belonged to his bedroom on the station, full of his father's cooking.

He found himself drifting, the taste of home cooking on the tip of his tongue.

*

He woke slowly. Each breath of wakefulness reminding him of the hopeless situation he was in. His neck screamed as he moved it, unused to sleeping without even a makeshift pillow. In the night he must of curled up into foetal position, as people were packed around him like sardines in a can. As he sat up and crossed his legs, his body screamed. The space he vacated was filled with limbs almost immediately.

Looking around he saw most people were lying down. Loud snored were coming from the left and Jake followed the sound to the source : the cowboy. He thought someone would complain, but those who were not asleep seemed unbothered. Or maybe they were reluctant to wake someone who was achieving something they couldn't.

He wasn't surprised to see Bashir sitting up; Jake was beginning to wonder if the man ever actually slept. Slowly he stood. His stomach, which had been full to the point of bursting yesterday, was already demanding more food. He ignored it - he'd become good at that.

He tried to move across the floor without treading on anyone. It was not successful but only one of his victims - who he kicked in the stomach - opened his eyes to glare at him. The others were too exhausted, or didn't want to cause a confrontation.

Once he made it across he squatted next to Bashir, his heels flat on the floor. The doctor was looking down at a pale, blue skinned girl, one of his delicate hands against his forehead. Even with Jake's lack of knowledge about aliments - he lived in the twenty fourth century, and any half civil planet would be able to cure any illness that would once of sliced through the population like a knife - could see that this was a fever.

Even though the room was far too hot for humans she was shivering. Her teeth chattered uncomfortably, and Jake wondered what planet she came from that this inferno was cold. Jake lifted up his captain's jacket that he had stripped when the heat became too much, but he dared not leave it on the floor and lose it. As he tried to place it over her, Bashir stopped him, shaking his head softly.

"She's cold." Jake hissed, not quite sure why he was pressing the issue. The other man was a doctor and would never purposefully harm a patient. Even so, it felt wrong to do nothing as the girl hugged herself for warmth.

"She's boiling up." He corrects. To prove his point he takes Jake's hand and presses it against her bare forehead. His fingers stuck uncomfortably to the sweat on her skin, the perspiration tingled the tips of his fingers like weak acid. The skin underneath, just as the doctor said it would, was hot, a slight bump down the middle like an old scar. Quickly Jake pulled his hand away, unable to hold it there for longer. "The worst thing you can do when a Bolian has a fever is put more layers on them. This damn heat isn't helping either."

"Why is she ill and not anyone else?" Jake asked. While nobody looked healthy, she was the only one who looked sick. Anyone else who was too injured and diseased was left ( _killed_ Jake's mind supplied, and he tried to ignore) on the planet.

"If we're lucky it's something in the atmosphere." He looked sceptical as he spoke, face in a frown.

"And if we're not?" Bashir sighed.

"She's not the only Bolian. It may be a unique reaction because she's half-caste but more likely -"

"She's sick." He nodded grimly.

"And if it's contagious, in close quarters like this, it will spread like wild fire. It's not like we can put up a quarantine."

He looked back down at the girl, twitching in her sleep, head rested on a pile of jackets, all donated from the medical staff if the flashes of teal was anything to go by. Unlike full Bolians her hair was pitch black, like a raven, and flowed around her, the days of war meaning it was knotted and dirty. Jake remembered a book his mom had read him as a child : snow white. He wondered if a kiss would wake her up, or just make him ill as well.

"But don't worry," Bashir said, mistaking Jake's quiet thinking for fear. "For all the medical equipment I have here this could simply be a common cold."

Jake gave him a hollow smile back. 'Common cold' sounded innocent enough, but if that was what the girl had, he didn't want to get it. Jake had never been sick before - not seriously, nothing that a hypo hadn't cured before he ended up in half a state that girl was in - and he didn't want to discover what it was like. He had read history books, he knew how illness would spread through countries and left humans dying painfully in its wake.

Ashamed of himself for only thinking of himself as a girl lay ill, he asked : "What does she need?"

Bashir sighed again, a hollow sound that seemed to suck everything out of him. "Water. Rest. A decent sick bay."

Jake turned to look at the food trough, now empty. It hadn't been refilled since the time. He hoped their captors would keep feeding them - surely it would be a waste to let them starve in space when they could of easily shot them dead down at the surface. There was still no water, Jake's mouth felt like a desert, his voice croaky and his tongue sticking uncomfortably to the roof of his mouth. He glanced at the door to the main ship.

"Do you think - " Bashir followed his gaze, frown on face, shaking his head.

"They won't care." He sounded so defeated, and the anger Jake thought he left back on the planet swelled up again in his chest.

"You can't just give up! She might die! We can't just leave her like this!"

For a moment the doctor just bit his lip with indecision, looking all of five years old, before slowly nodding. "OK." He still looked unsure, and as he walked towards the door, his feet dragged.

"It might save her life." Jake encouraged him. A determined look crossed the Bashir's face, and he knocked loudly on the divide between the cargo and the rest of the ship. Nobody responded, and Bashir knocked harder.

"Oi! We got sick in here." His voice losing its posh quality slightly as he yelled. "Open up."

The guard - and there was a guard, they weren't on their own - growled back. "Shut up."

Bashir didn't stop, once he set his mind on something not even the whole Klingon Empire could change his mind. "We've got ill. I need water, or the whole cargo bay will get infected." Jake joined in, knocking his fists and demanding water. Their bold recklessness seemed to catch on, and soon all those closest to the doors was either shouting, or shaking their heads in disapproval.

Finally the guard conceded. "Get away from the door."

Bashir and Jake quickly scurried backwards, limbs quickly moved out of the way of their feet.

"You've got us all killed." One of their fellow prisoners hissed. For a second, Jake wondered if they could run the guard and take over the ship, but the door opened and they were greeted by not one guard, but three, disruptors in hand, bat'leths on back. Jake gulped and took another step back.

"Where is your sick?" The klingon at the front ordered, pistol out.

"This way." Bashir began weaving his way through the crowd, the guard on his heels. The other two guards stayed in the door with their disruptors trained on prisoners. Everyone seemed to hold their breath.

"She needs water, and for you to turn down the damn heat." Bashir said and was ignored. The klingon instead pointed his gun at the girl. "Oi, what are you - "

The guard shot at the same time Bashir knocked himself into the klingon. The doctor was backhanded across the face, and he fell to the floor in a heap. Grinning, the guard moved back to the door, pausing in the doorway.

"Anyone else need anything?" He asked. The room stayed silent. The doors hissed closed, and Jake stumbled over to Bashir. The man was already pulling himself up, a trail of blood dripping down from his forehead when he was hit.

"I'm alright." He said, pushing Jake's hands away, moving to the girl. Jake didn't look, didn't want to see. The defeated look on the doctor's face as he checked for life signs was enough. This was his fault. He shouldn't of made Bashir go to the klingons. She should still be alive now. Dead, because of him. He had been a coward before. Now he was a murder.

*

Her death was for nothing.

Jake killed a girl he didn't even know the name of and it was for nothing. Whatever she had still spread through the cargo bay like wildfire.

And the irony is, the most messed up thing of all, was Jake didn't even get ill. Wasn't even punished for what he did. Instead he had to watch everyone else fall to it. Shiver and cough and vomit. By three sleeps - and Jake counted the days like that now, the smoky atmosphere in the cargo bay never darkening or lightening to show the passage of time - it seemed to of run its course, only a couple left still shivering under blankets made of a Starfleet jackets.

They removed the girl's body that night. Probably threw her out the airlock. She would of survived if they hadn't gone to the klingons. She would of got better and not been thrown out like trash to drift in space forever. He knew the chances of anyone finding that body in the endless black.

And the worst part was, it wasn't just the girl Jake had murdered, something in Bashir seemed to die as well. He no longer made even the weakest attempts at jokes, the frown on his face permanent. He was distant, only talking to his patients. He stayed away from Jake.

And the younger man couldn't blame him. He knew what he'd done. He deserved this treatment.

So it was a surprise when Bashir collapsed next to him, hugging his knees, eyes hollow and exhausted. Jake thought it must be a mistake. He shuffled, wondering if he should move, but Bashir reached out, skinny (and did he look like a skeleton too?) hand resting on his knee.

"Jake." He said, voice filled with _something_. Not hate, not anger. "I'm - " He cut off, eyes distant, before sighing. "It's not your fault. Any of it."

"Yes. It is." Bashir bit his lip, and Jake wanted to laugh. Say _ha, see, you don't believe what you're saying yourself_. But he hadn't laughed since the shuttle, and his lips were glued together with lack of water.

"Are you hydrated?" The doctor said instead, and Jake nodded. A lie, his throat was dry, but the precious water the Klingon's - a klingon, a Federation sympathiser, who thought leaving prisoners to die of illness was dishonourable - belonged to those sick, not a coward like him. Bashir saw right through him, holding out a hollow phaser bottom someone had jury rigged into a cup.

"Drink it." Jake shook his head.

"It's yours. You're working and - "

Bashir pushed it into his hands. "My job is to look after you until you're back on DS9. OK?" His eyes held Jake's in an unblinking gaze, that promised no argument. Slowly his hands came up around the doctor's to take the cup.

"OK."

The water inside was the best thing he'd ever drank.

*

"You say you're looking for Jake Sisko?"

"You know him?"

"Yeah. We worked together in the hospital before - "

"Before what?"

"The klingons attacked us. Found their way into the cave system we had fled into."

"Where is he now?"

"I don't know. He's - I _think_ he's still alive. Kid was a hero, saved us all. But civilians - like him and me - should of been allowed to stay. But I was on a scout team when they found the survivors and Jake isn't here. People said they saw him though. He might of stayed with the doctor."

"Doctor Bashir?"

"Uh-huh. But Starfleet isn't on the planet anymore. They took them off on ships... Are you going to find Jake?"

"I plan to."

"C-can I come to? If you have a way off this planet. The klingons they're - they're - "

"I'm sorry, I really am, but we can't leave any traces we were here. But Starfleet is talking to the klingons, you'll be able to leave soon."

"Great. If anyone is left then."

"Son - "

"My name's Kirby."

"Kirby. We're doing our best."

"You're going to save Jake! Why not the rest of us? What makes him so damn special?"

"I thought that would be obvious. I'm Captain Benjamin Sisko, I'm his father. And it's going to take more than a Klingon army to keep him from me."


	3. The Camp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't remember if I was swearing or not in this story so heads up Jake swears.   
> Blended Victorian mining techniques with futuristic equipment and thus made something that is only reasonably recognisable as mining. I tried my best as someone with zero percent mining experience.  
> Also, I know, it takes me forever to write these chapters up and I have no excuse. I wanna finish this before the end of August though.

The beam was a bright white and passed over Jake before he'd even woken up properly, turning his eyelids half translucent and his eyes blind. The world was a loud screech, like nails on a chalk board, before turning into a ringing that seemed to come from within him.

He stayed down until the ringing died down, changing into words that still merged and blurred together too fast for his addled mind to comprehend. Everyone seemed to be speaking at once, and Jake zoned in on the closest, blocking out all the rest. He recognised the posh British vowel sounds easily : Bashir.

"Are you ok?" The doctor was asking, looking down at him. He didn't have wrinkles before the klingons, his face smooth and youthful, but now they were a permanent presence, worry etched deep in every single one. Jake nodded slowly, his growing hair brushing against the floor. It was already getting tangled, forming a clump of matted hair, and Jake knew he should twist the ends like his father taught him so they grow into organised dreads, but he couldn't find the effort to do so. With everything going on taking time out of his day to do his _hair_ of all things just seemed ridiculous.

Jake took the hand offered to him and was pulled up into sitting position, glancing around the room. There was a lack of confusion hanging in the room which told him whatever had happened was something covered in the academy. "What happened?"

"They just swept the room, shorting out all the technology. Including our translators." That was why his right ear was feeling funny then. A slight buzz still echoed in it, like a fly was trapped inside. He wanted to hit the side of his head, see if he could knock it out, but he was aware everyone else was on top of this situation. Instead he tried to discreetly  shake his head. From Bashir's slight smile on his face, he suspected his go at stealth hadn't worked.

"Why bother?" Jake asked, quickly, a flush already covering his cheeks, and he wondered how the hell he could still feel embarrassment. For God's sake he'd pissed in front of all these people! Bashir shrugged, as lost as Jake. Everyone in the Federation learnt standard at school, even if it was a precious few's first language. And to get into Starfleet one had to be damn near fluent.

"This hyar way it'll be harder fo' us t'o'ganize wif t'other prisoners." The man who spoke accent was so strong, it took Jake a moment to work out what he was saying. He didn't know in ear translators also died down accents for the sake of understanding. He turned to see the speaker was the cowboy who had spent much of the trip next to them.

"To keep us isolated within ourselves." Bashir said, slowly, sounding impressed. Jake scowled at him, even if it was a clever idea. After all, the last thing you wanted was your enemies to become friends with each other, but they were still _Klingons_.

"Yo' got it! Never thunk them bastards were so clevah though."

Bashir snorted. "You might not want to let them hear you say that."

The man coughed before speaking, dry like sandpaper, a reminder that less than two days ago he'd been lying on the floor ill like most of the other prisoners in the cargo bay. He shrugged his big shoulders, muscles already wasting away from lack of exercise and nutrients, a smile on his face that left his eyes full of sadness. "Ah gimme a week tops."

It made Jake want to scream at him if he thought like that of course he wouldn't last a week. It was better than what he was really thinking. That Jake didn't think the man would last a week either. He was old and sick and disabled, not to mention he couldn't keep his nose out of other peoples' business. Instead he bit his lip and looked away.

Just as the whining in his ears began to fade away the door to the cargo bay opened - the one they were forced through at the start of the journey, not the one that lead into the ship. A klingon with a disruptor stood in the entrance, looking at them with unmasked hatred in his eyes. He looked old and slow, hair already pure white, and a layer of fat softened his middle. But what would attacking his achieve? The only thing they knew for certain was past that door more klingons with more weapons stood, and the soldiers who would of taken on those odds were long since killed back on that forsaken planet light years away. It was like they were mocking them, throwing back their weakness in their faces.

"Follow me." Jake had never heard a klingon speak without a translator before. The voice was low, more like a dog's bark than a smooth flow of words. They sounded more terrifying like this. More like animals than an intelligent race that developed warp travel. Listening to that growl, Jake wondered how they ever thought a treaty between them and the Federation would work. The translators hid what they were : monsters.

Slowly, the Federation members left the room, only one at a time able to squeeze through the door. Jake wanted to hide in the corner of the ship, didn't want to face whatever new horror lay ahead. Only the thought of being shot ( _and maybe_ a tiny voice whispered that Jake ignored _it would be better to die now_ ) kept him shuffling forward. He pulled on his jacket, grimacing at the dried gruel that rubbed against his skin. Even so he kept it on, the conditions outside could be anything from the fires of hell to an ice planet. Around him the other captives were doing the same.

In front of him he saw Doctor Kalandra helping up the ensign from the caves. She looked blank, like everything that made her had been drained away leaving only a pale, sickly shell. Even her spiky hair had fallen flat and lifeless.

Cowboy leaned forward and spoke softly into Jake's ear. "Ah give her even less time than me." Jake scowled at him, disguised that he could even joke about someone else like that. Except when he looked at the man there was no smile on his face, no hint of laughter. Just the grim truth.

Jake made his way through the exit on unsteady legs, glad Bashir was in front protecting him from - well, everything. It was almost funny to think that back home he would fight his dad every step of the way to stay when a battle was about to erupt.

_Dad could tell what a coward you are_. The thought came from nowhere, chilling him to the bone. He tried to shake it off, desperately. His dad sent him away because he was worried for him, Jake knew that, but the hooks were already in. What he wouldn't give to hear his father's voice again, even if it was filled with disgust.

As his feet left the metal grating and touched down on rough rocks, Jake saw they were not on a planet like he'd been expecting. Craning his neck up he could see a large gas giant that from Jake's position in orbit could be Jupiter. The colours in its swirling cloud was a mixture of brown and blue, no two the same shade. But he was a child of the 24th century - he'd seen gas giants closer than this, and he held no wonder in his gaze. He looked back down at the pale moon's surface, seeing the  dome of the life support system as he did so.

"If we stepped outside the dome we wouldn't last a minute." Jake jumped, the doctor's hushed voice closer than he thought it would be. Disbelief covered his face as he saw Bashir jumping slightly on the balls of his feet.

"What are you doing?" Jake hissed, eyes darting around to see if anyone else was observing his behaviour. The klingons would kill for less than a bit of oddity.

"Checking the gravity." He answered.

"Right..." Because that explained it all. For once, Bashir seemed to know Jake didn't understand, his bouncing stopping.

"Anyone can do it," he defended, "for example, I can tell this gravity is artificial, and it is the same as on the ship, which is almost the same as on Qo'noS, which is 1.23 standard. You can't get artificial gravity perfect."

Jake nodded, taking his word for it. He'd never been good at gravity, with most species in the Federation liking ones close enough to Earth's that he never even thought about it as he travelled from ship to dock to station. Bashir, Jake thought, was exactly the kind of person who would notice those sorts of changes though.

Looking away from his now still companion, he took in the surface. Five long huts stretched out in front of them, only one, on the far left, having windows, and even those only one way. They could see out but nobody could see in. That was no doubt the guards' quarters. Squinting past them Jake could see mounds of rock jutting out of the otherwise flat landscape.

As the last person stumbled out of the cargo bay doors, the guards pressed in, disruptors in hands forming them into a tight group. They looked like they needed only half an excuse to use them and Jake couldn't help but wonder how much honour was left in this isolated part of the galaxy. The Federation sympathiser closed the door behind them with a final sounding thud, and while Jake was thankful of what he'd done, he couldn't help the disgust and _hatred_ that rose in his throat just by looking at him. The ship rose off the ground with a low groan, whipping up dust like a hurricane that covered the prisoners.

"Take a long look at that," an animalistic voice growled over the wind, "that is the last look at freedom you'll ever see." The other klingons around him laughed like a pack of hyenas, and Jake shivered. He took their advice, not pulling his eyes away from the retreating ship until they had turned on their warp drive and disappeared like a shooting star. His neck ached from the odd angle he had kept it at, but Jake knew that was the least of the pain he would experience here.

The klingon in front began to march forward, and the crowd behind him scrambled to keep up with legs that were weak and cramped from days of lack of use on the ship.

"One to four are your quarters. You will sleep and eat there." He barked. No mention of barrack five. The huts had seemed so long, but it only took a minute to march from one side to the other, and then they had passed them. The klingon - and Jake suspected he was in charge of the site, he had more of a physical presence than the other's around him - stopped only when he reached a metal platform about five minutes away from the hut. It hovered above the ground, an anti-grav system in place, and an old fashioned lever was next to it. Another klingon - the first woman Jake had seen - stood next to it, back straight and hands clasped behind her back. She looked over them coolly before saying something to the leader in Klingonese. Jake leant forward and asked the doctor for a translation.

"She said 'the Federation will fall easily if their warriors are all as weak as them.'"

The man barked something back, and Bashir didn't wait to be asked this time, his voice angry as he whispered the translation. "'These are only the cowards'."

Jake wondered, not for the first time, if he had not been there if the doctor would of picked up a gun and fought, and, by consequence, _died_ on that planet. The leader turned on his heel and left them to the woman's mercy. Slowly she walked among the crowd. It was like in the warehouse, only worse. The tension in the group rose, and from the grin on her face Jake could tell she was enjoying the pain she was causing them.

She began splitting them into four sections, the tests she did to each person bizarre. Slowly, _painfully_ , she got to them. She showed her yellow teeth at the cowboy as she pulled up his sleeve to reveal his stump.

"You should of died with honour." She spat at him. Jake couldn't help himself, he shivered, an action which didn't go unnoticed. She flicked her eyes to him, the disgust at his weakness clear. This was how he should be looked at after all he did, but instead of feeling relieved that someone saw him for what he was, all he felt was shame in the pit of his stomach.   

She pointed to the last group and the cowboy quickly hurried over, head low. Then she turned to Bashir. She felt up his muscles, frowning. Jake expected the doctor to say something, one of those classic snarky comments that 'Fleet officers seem so good at. But he said nothing, just glared at her with anger in his eyes.

"Over there." She decided, pointing at the 2nd group. Slowly, giving her one last cold look in the eye, he moved off. As he did so he squeezed Jake's wrist. A discreet but comfortable gesture that did nothing to stop the feeling of exposure now he was gone. His comfort blanket was gone and now anything could happen. The klingon's eyes were piercing, and Jake found he couldn't look away. He bit his lip, hard, trying his hardest not to break down in tears under it. He was not a child, he would not show weakness, even if they were stripping away every defence he had ever made, making him into _nothing_.

She moved closer, a twisted grin on her face as Jake couldn't help but step backwards. Only one, he couldn't forget he had nowhere to go. She rapped her knuckles against his forehead, each bang making him flinch, the vibrations crashing through him and making his knees weak. He wondered if he would be shot if he collapsed here.

"Strong for a human's. Over there." He followed her finger, shivering slightly at the talon at the end of it. Not Bashir's group, nor the cowboy's, and while Jake had seen those same terrified faces a million times in the last week, he could not place any names to them. A cold barrel pressed against the base of his spine. A disruptor.

"Move." Jake obeyed quickly, stumbling over his feet in his hast to get away from the now normal feeling of death being too close. As a small act of rebellion he dragged his feet but the guard said nothing, and he was quickly among the group. He looked over them quickly. Noting they were all around his age, ensigns, most of them smaller than him. Looking past them he found Bashir, and as their eyes locked he stomach plunged to his feet as he saw the worry in the doctor's eyes. Quickly he looked away, unable to hold that gaze when it wasn't saying sweet lies about how they were going to be OK.

The dust of the moon caught in his throat and Jake closed his eyes. He could feel tears pricking at them, but he refused to let them fall. He only opened them again in shock as a someone stumbled into him.

"My apologises." The figure said in a low voice once Jake had regained his balance. He cast a glance over at the figure, surprised to see it was a Vulcan. They did not crash into people, not by accident. He followed the man's gaze and saw a group trudging towards the lift. It was easy to spot Bashir, like he had a homing beacon on him. This time he didn't look away as the lever was pulled and the doctor sunk downwards into the rock.

Then it was their turn. Grimly the group stumbled forward, swapping the dusty ground for flaking mild steel, or at least the klingon version of it. There was a lot of space on the platform, the plate made to carry more people down than their small group, but even so they huddled together, taking comfort in the closeness of each other. A guard joined them on the platform, his face impassive, almost bored, a disruptor in his hands. They easily outnumbered him, but Jake already knew they were not going to do anything. As their captors were so keen on reminding them, they were cowards.

The lever must of been pulled as Jake felt a slight shudder before the platform began to lower. He looked up, desperate to see the light for as long as possible. Living on a space station he never thought he would miss natural light, and yet he did with a burning ache. But after they reached a certain point a cover came over, and they were plunged into blackness, only the breathing of those around him stopping him from completely breaking down.

Jake had never experienced such darkness before. People said space was black, and before now Jake would have agreed with them, but in space there was trillions of suns and nebulas and travelling ships. No, people who said space was black had never travelled under the surface of a moon, the hopelessness thick and choking with the walls closing in.

While not claustrophobic, the moment the lift touched down in a small clearing Jake jumped out eagerly, the rest of the group hot on his heels. Here, at least, they was light, weakly pulsing out from lanterns hanging from the walls, covered in mesh and leaving the shadows it cast long.

Suddenly, from far away, another light appeared. It approached slowly, veering off before reaching them, leaving only the memory on Jake's retainers. The guard assigned to them stomped after it, leaving the dozen or so Federation members to chase after him or risk getting lost in this dark, dank caves forever.

For the first time in a long time Jake thought about Kirby. The friend he made and forgot about. Did he feel like this when he stepped into the maze of tunnels to scout? Did he get lost in the dark? Die in the empty blankness? Was Jake's fate going to be the same as his, light years away? He wondered if Bashir would forget him as quickly as he did Kirby.

The ground beneath his feet was smooth, worn by the hundreds who had done the same. He cursed his human eyesight, the faint light leaving him squinting to make out anything. Other aliens around him could walk confidently, without fear of tripping over bumps in the ground (bodies left to die). However he could feel his aching eyes getting used to it, the grey blobs of humanoids getting more details.

The walk was long and hard, made more so by his stiff, unused muscles. Jake didn't know how long it would of taken on the surface, but here it seemed to drag painfully on. With each foot his placed forward his mouth got drier, and the thoughts of home, of _hope_ , got further away.

Finally they were there, and Jake had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. Their goal was identical to the opening they had left!

A lift took up most of it, and they watched as those standing on it began to take the rocks from a cart and began piling them on. Something reflected in the rocks when the light hit it, making it shine silver against the dirty white. As they finished, they jumped down, one pushing the cart to the edge of the room to join the others, while another pulled the lever. With a shudder, the lift took the rocks up and away to the surface. A woman came up with a loaded cart and left it at the side of where the lift should be, before turning and getting a new one, pushing it back into the tunnels. The guard, who had not uttered a word since they met him, now began to speak.

"Your job - Thrusters - follow her."  He said nothing more, and Jake doubted that even if he wanted to he could, his standard broken and hard to understand in his deep, growling voice. Jake was slow of the mark to get a cart. It felt like he always was a step behind everyone else, his brain replaced by cotton wool, slowing him down.

Even empty, they were heavy, and Jake dreaded to think if he would even be able to push it while full. The trolleys had a light on the front which flickered when it was moved, the slight bumps on the ground causing the wires to move inside. Drawn to it like a moth to a flame Jake could not tear his eyes away from it as he walked.

As they travelled deeper into the caves, Jake saw why they needed the lights on the front : the ones on the wall ceased. The ceilings came closer, pressing him in, until he had to duck to avoid scraping his head along the top. It stayed wide however, meaning other people could pass them coming in the other direction. Each light that appeared in front of him meant blindness until it passed.

Slowly the tunnelscape changed again, this time holes in the cave walls leading off. Small, tight. You wouldn't want to meet someone coming the other way in one of those. Jake found himself passing them lost. Some more training would be advantageous. _Any_ training would be advantageous.

"There." The voice made Jake stop, frozen for a second thinking it was a guard, but squinting past the light he saw it was another prisoner, pushing a cart so full it was nearly pressed against the ground with weight. Listening closer he heard it was no more than a pained grunt, and felt foolish for ever thinking it was a Klingon. Jake felt bad when he had to ask them to clarify.

"Tunnel. Free." It grunted, not stopping it's laborious task. Already it was too far away to ask for more details. Jake squinted in his light, seeing one of those tunnels ahead. He blanched at the thought of having to crawl inside one, but what was the alternative? Hide in the dark until a guard found him and killed him?

He pushed his cart into the mouth of the hole and it easily fit through, spare space each side. Jake wished he could say the same about himself, his growing frame meant he couldn't crouch but rather crawl to fit through. Trying to push it with his hands was ineffective, the slight uphill at the start causing the whole cart to roll into him when he tried to move forward. He crawled out backwards, breathing in the heavy air in relief of being free again.

He looked at the cart, knowing there was an answer but his mind was too tired, too hungry, to think of it. He was just about to give up and try pushing it again when he saw the chains. One end was attached to the front of the cart securely enough that there was no give when Jake tugged at it, the other end snaked up and inside. He pulled it out, noticing the karabiner on the end. He wrapped the chains around his waist twice before securing it with the clip, protecting himself with the captain's jacket that was too hot to wear in the heat of the caves.

On the chain someone had tied a white strip of material. Jake had seen pieces like it attached to the mouth of many of the tunnels he'd passed, tied to the metal beam at the top, and standing out against the grey rock. Hoping it was a way of showing the tunnel was occupied, he copied.

Getting down on his hands and knees, Jake began to crawl through the tunnel. Behind him the cart rattled in, his sharp tugs on the chain pulling it when it got caught. While having the cart trailing at his rear meant he could move forward, it also meant he was crawling in pitch blackness, only a small amount of the light getting through. To each side of him he could feel the walls rubbing against him, pressing into him. Any second they could fall in. It felt like the tunnel was getting smaller, the sides sloping in, until he would become trapped. His breathing increased, the heavy air not getting into his lungs fast enough. He felt sick. He felt -

The cart jerked to a stop, the pain as the chains dug into his stomach pulling him out of the panic he was getting lost in. In the dark he could not undo the chains, instead he turned around, the light making him just as blind as he was in the blackness, his eyes squeezed closed. His clothes stuck to his body with sweat, the air still hard to breath. There must be an air cleaner somewhere as Jake was sure there couldn't be enough oxygen under the surface if it wasn't being artificially made down here.

He felt behind him on the floor, seeing if a lump of rock was causing problems with the anti-grav system. Nothing was under the cart, his knuckles losing the top layer of skin as it got caught between it and the floor. Then he moved to the sides. He was right : the tunnel was getting narrower. The cart had become trapped between the two walls, unable to squeeze any further through. The grooves on the wall told Jake he was not the only one to be pulled to a sharp stop. Not wanting to put any more pressure on the wall, he pushed it back slightly. It didn't help his thoughts of being buried alive.

Slowly he turned back around, his head hitting the ceiling, his knees scrapping against the walls. With blind fingers he felt in front of him, patting the floor down starting close before moving further out. He felt a lump, metal, a tray. He pulled it closer, pressing himself flat against the wall so light could escape past him. Inside of the container there was chunks of rocks about the size of his fist. Parts of it shined the same as what the people above where putting on the lift.

The ceiling was high enough for Jake could flip the tray into it, his arms shaking as he lifted it up in the uncomfortable position. The rocks crashed noisily into the bottom, the cart sinking slightly like there wasn't enough energy to keep itself up. He replaced the tray, finding two more behind it.

Once those had been emptied and returned Jake turned around so he was facing the cart. It loomed above him, and he ducked his head to stop the light burning his eyes. Now he had a much harder task to do. The chain could no longer help him pull it, now only tethering it to him. He pushed it with his hands, much like he had tried to do at the other end. It inched forward. Confident he could now move it - and if it was not an anti-grav system but a cart with wheels, Jake knew he would not have the strength to push it towards the exit - he threw his whole body weight behind it. However long it had taken him to push the cart in, it will take triple that to get it out.

As he crawled forward he put as much contact between him and the cart as possible, including his forehead. He had thought the guard mad when she had rapped her knuckles against his head, now he realised it was not an humiliation tactic, but she had actually been assessing him.  

His arms ached. His neck ached. His legs, back, knees, eyes, _mind_ did too. Even his stomach joined in, wanting food, his throat begging for water. But all he could do was push, push, _push_. In that dark tunnel he forgot about Deep Space Nine and Doctor Bashir and the klingons waiting for him. He forgot about his life. Just the pain, the long tunnel ahead of him, and a heavy cart.

It was a shock when he reached the end. He dragged in deep lungfuls of air, no fresher than in the small tunnel but somehow better. He stretched out as much as he was able, sore muscles crying with the abuse they had suffered, groaning with pleasure. He peeled off his t-shirt that had stuck to his body with sweat, embracing the moment of cold as his sweat evaporated into the air. His trousers too were pasted onto his skin, but he was uncomfortable to take them off, his Federation upbringing, his _pride_ of all things, stronger than his need to cool down. His t-shirt joined his jacket around his waist, another form of protection against the heavy chairs.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the trip to the lift. His eyes caught the white cloth, and grateful for another moment of rest, he undid it with trembling fingers. He shouldn't of done a double knot. When he had no reason not to start pushing it again, he began the gruelling trip back.

It was easier in the larger tunnel to push it forward. His legs doing most of the work, even if they too began to scream at him to stop. But it was still hard. In the Federation manual labour was near nonexistent. With replicators available only a few substances needed to be grown or mined, the main one being Dilthium. And while his father cooked real food, farming had become an oddity in the last hundred years, and where it hadn't machines had replaced workers. Jake had written a paper for Mrs O'Brien on the subject, and she had given him a gold star. There had been protests as peoples' way of life was destroyed, but as Jake pushed the cart he wondered why anyone would ever fight to do this. It was hell. He was in hell.

The day dragged on. With each cart he transported back and forth the more he thought it was never going to end. If he hadn't seen the huts he would suspect the klingons just shove them down here and work them to death quickly in one stretch. 

Just as Jake thought he couldn't take another step forward (and hadn't he thought that before?) a loud, high pitched beep pierced the air. It hummed, and Jake thought the very cave would crumble with it. Unsure of what to do, he froze, like a deer caught in the headlights. His cart was empty, and he swayed on his feet. Every muscle begged him to collapse, give up, and he wanted to so badly. But the thought of dying in this place was too much for him, his last sight  the harsh looming walls of mining too appalling.

In the distance he saw a pin-prick of light. It got bigger and bigger, faster than it should of. Like it was unburdened with the weight of rocks, and as the Romulan pushed it past him Jake realised that was exactly why. Was it a trick? It couldn't be. It was over.

He turned his cart around, new found energy crackling in his muscles as he hurried towards freedom. For a moment he felt like he could take on the world.

It didn't last. Of course it didn't. He was hungry and thirsty and more exhausted than he'd ever been in his life. Before he even reached the rock drop of point he was lagging, his legs turning to lead. With each step forward, his feet dragged more and more, the energy to lift them gone. He lost sight of the Romulan's light, but he barely noticed it. Like for the rest of the day the only thought in his head was to move forward. Other prisoners overtook him, some of their carts half full, their eagerness lasting longer than Jake's.

Finally he reached the drop off point. He undid his chains, his fingers shaking so badly it took a couple of tries, his t-shirt and jacket falling to the floor with it. For a moment he just looked down at them, searching inside of himself to find the energy to pick them up. Stretching out his back, his spine clicking angrily, he decided he should. While it was hot in here, it could be an ice age out there. He didn't think of the fact he would need them to soften the chains tomorrow. He didn't think there would _be_ a tomorrow.

He put the t-shirt back on, the fabric stiff with dried sweat, and his skin soaked with fresh causing it to stick as he pulled it on. He re-tied the jacket around his waist, wincing as it pulled tight around the bruises that now covered his skin.

But it was not over yet. He still had to make his way back to the lift. Even with the light of the lanterns on the wall, and the ever increasing flood of people walking in a grim silence, Jake put his hand on the bumpy walls and used it to guide him along, like a blind man. Under his torn fingers the rocks were smooth, damp and cool. He tried to channel that cold through his body with little success.

There was already a queue at the lift. Unlike this morning (only this morning? Time losses all meaning in the dark) the platform was cramped full of prisoners, barely enough room for those on it to breath as it made it's slow ascent upwards. A guard stood at the bottom, pushing as many on it as can fit, and then some more, the gun in his hand an incentive for those more reluctant. Jake wondered if it was to save energy, or just pure sadism.

Jake wondered if he should hang back, wait until the crowds thinned, but the thought that maybe the klingons left the stragglers behind down here was more incentive than a disruptor ever could be, and he hurried on. He was taller than most people on the lift, meaning his head stuck out the top, like a target. His body was crushed against a cardassian, the cool scales pressed against his arm so hard they would leave indents.

With a long sigh, like the lift too was giving up hope, it began to rise. Everyone squeezed closer to the centre. Bodies pressed together like sardines, making it hard to expand his lungs. He tried to close his eyes - not that it made much different in the pitch black of the shaft - but that just made it worse. Disembodied limbs and the knowledge the walls were too close. He was unable to crush the rising panic that the lift would break.

Fear would spread like wildfire among the prisoners. The desperate need to get out over riding any common sense. People would be pushed down, trampled in panic. And they would be the lucky ones. Next would be the hunger, the thirst, the heat. The will to go on slowly fading, but the body not getting the memo, just becoming ever weaker. And if the klingons did save them, the next day having to use the same lift, knowing it could all happen again. A nightmare on repeat.

Light broke through his dark thoughts, and he craned his neck up. The trap door was opening and inch by inch Jake could see more of the sky. The sun was creeping behind the horizon, and the first weak stars could be seen in the darkening sky. The gas giant was no longer in sight, and Jake thought it odd that something so large could just disappear like that.  

They came to the top of the shaft and people spilled out like water against a broken flood barrier. He was caught in the crowd of people, pulled off the platform without having to move his legs. They dumped him at the edge of the barracks, and Jake looked around. In the sunset he saw his fellow prisoners for the first time. Exhausted and skinny, long matted hair and ragged clothing, a thin layer of grey dust covering them all. Jake looked down at his hands and saw his too where covered in the fine powder. 

He followed the figures with his eyes, too exhausted to try and move, noticing that they seemed to travel in species. In the Federation segregation was, if not a thing of the past, certainly frowned upon. Only a few space ships had single species crews, and children of all races were taught together, and mixed in the playground. But Jake was not a stranger to this phenomenon. On Deep Space Nine, with travellers, it was quite common, people sticking to those similar to themselves and here the language divide no doubt helped reinforce this mentality. 

"Jake!" He turned to the sound, body protesting the movement. He saw Bashir coming towards him, looking - and sounding - just as bad as Jake felt. As the doctor neared he reached his arms forward, and for a crazy second Jake was sure the man was going to _hug_ him. Maybe Bashir changed his mind, as he settled for a pat on the back.

He didn't ask Jake any pointless questions like 'how are you?' the answer clearly written on the teen's face. "I found us a bed."

Jake only nodded, unable to talk, the dust coating his throat and his tongue stuck to the roof of his dry mouth. The cold on the surface was already making its way through his thin clothing, and slowly Jake put his jacket back on, thankful he didn't leave it on the floor on the mine.

Bashir began to lead the way back, hunched up like an old man, his dark hair streaked with grey dust giving it a salt-and-pepper look. Wondering if they had spent years down that mine, Jake shuffled after him.

Bashir lead them to the hut furthest away from the Klingon's but also furthest away from the mine entrance, Jake's legs begging to collapse. Bright white lights greeted them as they stepped inside and Jake blinked rapidly to try and get his eye's to adjust. Before he'd even recovered they were moving again, Bashir's hand on his shoulder the only thing stopping him getting lost.

Once he could see again, he looked around the place, mind too tired to take anything in for more than a couple of seconds. The whole place was the deep grey of concrete, and metal bunk beds lined the walls, with barely enough walking room between them. At the back of the room stood a replication unit, only one for the dozens of people who lived in barrack.

"Here we go." Jake barely looked at the bed before collapsing on it. The mattress was hard and lumpy, the blanket scratchy and thin. It was heaven. He closed his eyes, but a poke from the doctor stopped him falling asleep there and then.

"Wha?" He asked, in a tone that was meant to be annoyed but came out slurred and weak. Another time he would of winced at it. Now he just closed his eyes again - only to open them again at another shove.

"Don't fall asleep." Bashir scowled at him. Jake narrowed his eyes. Sleep seemed like a perfect idea right now, and the man, as a doctor, should really know that. "Eat first."

That got Jake's attention. The growling in his stomach worse than the heaviness of his eyes. "OK."

Slowly he stood up, wishing Bashir was not supporting him like... like a child. He tried to move away, but he stumbled on his own feet.

"Steady there. I would get it for you, but then I'll have to chop off your finger."

"What?" Jake had heard British humour was different, but that was just plain confusing.

"The ration system, it works on thumb prints." The doctor explained. He then began to explain how to get one's thumb print on the system in a long and detailed manner. If he didn't want Jake to fall asleep on him he really needed to improve his conversation skills.

They reached the hole in the wall Jake had seen earlier, a large line already formed and grimly moving forward, but Bashir took them to one side. He placed Jake's hand on the screen, and it took his finger prints.

"Congratulations." Bashir said dryly as it beeped its finish. "You are now officially a Klingon prisoner of war." Jake would of smiled in response to the doctor's hollow one, but even his facial muscles ached. A bowl replicated itself and Bashir handed it to him, before repeating the process himself.

Then they joined the line. It inched forward at snail's pace, but Jake barely noticed it, his mind trapped in a daze. Finally he got a bowl full of the same gruel they were supplied with on the cargo ship, releasing out of the tube with a unappealing, wet splattering sound. The klingons could replicate whatever food they wanted for the prisoners, but all they got was a tiny amount of flavourless gunk. He would of felt angry about that, once.

The doctor, noticing the pitiful amount they had been given, tipped some of his own ration into Jake's bowl. Once, that would of made him angry as well, but it felt like everything that made him him had been drained out. He couldn't even feel grateful.

He was already tipping the substance into his mouth before he even got back to his bed. It slipped down easily, leaving a coating of the stuff on his mouth and throat as it went. He licked the bowl clean, until not even a morsel was left. With food in his stomach, he was finally able to think again. Slowly, sure, like his thoughts had turned into tar somewhere in those tunnels, but at least he felt slightly more _alive_.

But all he could think about was how _cold_ it was up here. Nothing like the sweaty, oppressive heat that he spent the day wading through, thinking he was going to die in. He had prayed to whoever the hell might be listening for a cool breeze of air. It was ironic, that now he got the cold all he wanted was some warmth. He shivered, wrapping the ratty blanket they had been supplied with around his shoulders. It did little to stop the cold now trying to imprint itself in his bones.

"Why is it so cold in here?" His voice was raspy, and he coughed, the grey that covered his skin was also in his lungs, making it hard to breath even up here. It was a rhetorical question, but Bashir seemed to give it real thought as he swallowed his last mouthful of gruel, and like Jake, began licking out his bowl. Somewhere along the way they forgot how to be civilised. How to be _human_. His own blanket was wrapped around his shoulders like a cape, and Jake wondered if the man would give it to him if he asked. The only way he could stop the question breaking forth was to bite his tongue.

"There's only a thin energy barrier between us and space. Also, I believe the klingons are dicks."

Jake laughed, loud and barking, shocking himself. He always thought Jadzia was the only Starfleet officer to make comments like that. Bashir, too, looked surprised at Jake's reaction, a small self-satisfied smile breaking free on his face. Jake wondered how many people laughed with the doctor and not _at_ him.

"Anyway," the doctor carried on, " I thought you would appreciate the cool - I was down to my underpants today."

The thought of the man in front of him clad only in pants was not an image Jake wanted, and, for the first time, he was thankful he was so tired his brain couldn't imagine anything at the moment. "I just took off my t-shirt. Used it to soften the chain."

The doctor took a sharp intake of breath, his eyes full of concern. He moved onto Jake's bed, and the boy wondered if he ever had a conversation with Bashir without the man's eyebrows joining together in worry.

"Chain?"

"Yeah. To pull the cart up the tunnels after me." He tried to say it like it was no big deal, that even as they were talking his waist didn't ache. It couldn't be, it was his life now. No, his dad _was_ going to save him, the doctor promised. (The doctor didn't know shit.)

 "Where?" Bashir asked. This was the doctor, not the fellow prisoner, talking, and Jake felt like he had no choice but to strip the blanket away from him and pull up his top. He had made a point not to look at the bruising, but from the look on the man's face, it was worse than he first thought. He pressed at them softly, quickly pulling away as Jake hissed in pain. The boy dropped his t-shirt down, wrapping the blanket around him even more tightly, like a cocoon. His legs screamed at him as he pulled them up and under the cover.

"You'll be fine just be careful. Pressure on the waist over a prolonged period of time can cause - " he stopped himself, suddenly becoming aware Jake didn't need (want) to hear all the details. "Just be careful."

"Yeah." He knew the doctor didn't just mean with the waist either. They didn't have the medical equipment that they even had back in the caves. He used to live in a universe were a new limb could be made and attached in a day, and now he lived in one a cut could kill you.

Bashir stretched, groaning in pleasure as his joints popped loudly. "And I thought refinement was bad."

"What?" He blinked, wondering if he zoned out for a second. His eyes were already closing by their own accord, his lids feeling weighed down. He wished he wasn't so lost, that he could actually understand half the stuff that came out the mouth of the closest person to him on this damn moon.

"In the alternative universe, when Major Kira and I went through it was under Cardassian control. And me, being a lowly terran, was put to work in the refinery."

"When I went through the rebels had taken over Terrak Nor." The memories were slow to come to him, like his life of Deep Space Nine had been a dream. He wondered how long it would be before he forgot everything about before. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the morbid thoughts that seemed to be slowly making a home for themselves in his mind.

"Can't crush the need for freedom." Jake thought it was ironic Bashir could even say something like that when they were currently stuck in a war camp.

"Where did everyone go?" Jake had not meant to change the subject so abruptly but he had quickly scanned the room and noticed the huddle masses had left, leaving only a couple of lone people lying on beds, or talking quietly like them. Only scrapped clean bowls left any sign this place had been teeming with life - no, that wasn't the right word, the living dead - only minutes before. Bashir looked around too, rubbing the back of his neck, but if this was due to thought, or pain from the day's work, Jake did not know.

"I do not know." he said it slowly, confusion clear in his voice.

"They have gone to fight." The voice came out of nowhere, making Jake jump. Bashir, however, didn't react at all, like he already knew there was a person on the bunk above them.

"Fight who?" The doctor asked. He was curious, leaning back to try and catch a glimpse of the speaker.

"Klingons." It was a hiss of hate. "Prisoner fight guard and if prisoner win, next day prisoner get off."

"Know how your enemies fight." Bashir nodded. "Pretty clever."

The person above them snorted. "Klingons not clever. They do not want to know how we fight, they just want to fight."

Bashir didn't look convinced, and Jake wondered if she was saying that because they were enemies rather than any evidence to prove her point.

"Want to go?" Bashir asked him, single eyebrow raised. Jake shook his head.

"I can't move." It wasn't a lie. His limbs had hardened into their position, and to move them would cost more energy than Jake had.

Above him the woman laughed. "First day always worse."

"Except for the second, and the third, and the fourth." Bashir finished for her, and Jake wished the man could keep his mouth shut sometimes. "I've heard it before."

"It is well known Romulan saying." So the mysterious talker was Romulan. That explained her halting standard and strange accent. He wouldn't of thought they would want to talk to those in the Federation. Maybe it was different here : prisoners vs the guards; them vs the klingons.

"Have you fought them?" It was strange to ask questions to someone he couldn't see, though if he wanted to become a true journalist he would have to become accustomed to quizzing those who wanted to remain anonymous. (Jake wasn't sure he wanted to be a journalist anymore, wasn't sure he'll ever get a choice now.)

"I do not fight cheaters." Bashir raised an eyebrow at Jake.

"Isn't cheating dishonourable?"

She snorted. "Klingons are ruled by honour. Everything has to be glorious with blood spilled. Tell me, human, what is _honourable_ about fighting someone who had been working in mines all day when _they_ have been sitting with disruptors?" She spat out the last part, voice full of a deep rage only Romulan's could possess. Jake wanted to remind her that her species had their camps where her people were the ones sitting around with the weapons. Maybe it was OK because they didn't fight the prisoners, or because they didn't call it honourable, or maybe just because they weren't klingons.

Jake opened his mouth - and yawned. His jaw stretched so wide it physically ached, and the words on his tongue were lost.

"Young one is tired." The romulan above them commented. Jake scowled.

"I'm not young." He grumbled, and Bashir nodded very seriously next to him.

"He's seventeen." The doctor added, a grin on his face. The glare Jake sent his way did nothing to diminish it.

"I thought the Federation did not send children into battle."

Bashir fidgeted, awkwardly. "It's my fault. He wasn't meant to be there, but we got a distress call."

Jake shook his head. Why was the doctor still blaming himself? He seemed blind to Jake's part in this mess. "I insisted we - " but the rest of his defence was lost under another jaw cracking yawn.

"Get some sleep. We've got a busy day tomorrow." Normally Jake would put up a fight at someone giving him a bedtime, but right now sleep seemed like a damn good idea.

He laid back, pulling the scratching blanket over him, tugging the edges under him in an attempt to keep in the warmth. But no matter how hard he tried, he found the cold tugging at him to stay awake, shivers rocking his body, causing his teeth to clink together.

Jake didn't know how long he lay there desperately searching for blessed unconsciousness that refused to come to him. Long enough that the people who went to the fight came back in. Apparently someone called Taress got a pounding. Then after a couple of minutes of silence, the lights flicked off. The extra people in the barrack helped warm the place up, but his extremities still felt like they were submerged in blocks of ice, even as he rubbed them with his hands.

He turned around on his bed, hoping to generate some more heat. He just needed to trick his body enough for him to nod off. Bashir must of heard him his movements as he whispered across the space between their beds.

"Why are you still awake?" He asked, concern clear even with his voice lowered.

"Cold." Jake mumbled back, lips barely moving he was so tired. After a second something warm poked him in the side.

"It's me." Bashir whispered and Jake rolled over, eyes still closed. He knew what the doctor was getting at, and he felt like he should refuse the request. But he was cold, and tired, and who the hell will ever find out. It wouldn't hurt to share a bed, and Jake had spent the last week curled up into Bashir enough times.

His body - and the extra blanket - brought a warmth to the bed that Jake would of never managed to achieve on his own. In moments he was asleep.

*

The next day started with a loud beep that carried on vibrating in Jake's skull long after it was cut off. With a low groan he stretched out his still growing body, his muscles stiff. All he wanted to do was sleep for a couple more days.

Next to him Bashir rolled off the tiny cot, pulling the blankets off with him. The cold air assaulted Jake's body and he moaned louder this time, his eyes snapping open at the icy intrusion.

"Time to get up, sleepy head." Jake wanted nothing more to ignore the man, but he suspected he would be dragged out by his ankles if he tried to resist. He glared at the man, noticing that the doctor didn't seem much more awake than him, pale with dark bags under his eyes and hair like he'd been dragged backwards through a bush a couple of times. Slowly, with ever muscle screaming at him, Jake pulled himself up. Everyone else in the room seemed to be already queuing for breakfast.

Bashir pulled the same bowls as last night from under their bed. He handed one to Jake, who took it with numb fingers, before they both made their way over to the line.

This early in the morning no one was speaking, the silence of the barrack only broken by loud yawns and the frantic chewing of those who already got their food. Maybe it was because Jake was still drifting in and out of sleep, his heavy eyelids closing by their own accord, but it seemed to take only seconds for him to reach the front of the queue. He placed in bowl in the middle of the hole in the wall and then pushed his thumb onto the screen. It flashed, before the gruel fell out with the same unappealing fart like sound as last night. When the container was half full the stream cut out. He left it for a second, hoping more would come out, but someone pushed his back, and he scooped it up, aware that this was his ration for the day. Not enough.

Jake began to scoop the substance into his mouth as he waited for Bashir to get his share. All around them was the sound of people desperately shoving food in their mouths like if they stopped it would be taken away from them. Maybe it would; Jake increased his speed of eating.

Once the bowl was cleaner than any dish washer could achieve, Jake put it under the bed. His stomach still growled pitifully, and his gaze was drawn to Bashir's bowl. The doctor took longer, chewing each bite slowly. When there was just under a quarter of food left in the bottom he looked at Jake, before passing it to him.

"What are you doing?" Jake asked, confused. He sat on his hands to stop them snatching it up, leaving the bowl hovering in the air in front of his nose.

"You're hungry. Take it." He bit his lip. He really wanted to. But Bashir needed it just as much as him.

"Aren't you hungry?" Jake asked instead. The doctor shrugged.

"I was never good at eating in the mornings." Jake wanted to insist, his eyes flicking between the bowl and Bashir. Then he snatched it up, eating the meagre leftovers in seconds. Once done he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and gave the man a smile.

"Thanks."

Bashir just looked uncomfortable. "It's nothing, really."

The other prisoners, now finished with their morning ration, began leaving the barrack, and they followed them out. It was still dark, the temperature even lower without the shelter, and Jake rubbed his hands on his arms in an attempt to warm them up. He wondered how long the nights on the planet were, and how long they got to sleep last night. Not long enough.

As they waited for the lift in an ever increasing group - humans huddle together like penguins to stay warm, with the more hardened species on the outside - Jake began to doze on his feet, waking up again every time he lost his balance and began to fall forward. The silence around changed to quiet whispers as the time dragged on, and Jake guessed they didn't normally keep workers waiting this long in the mornings.

Finally the female klingon who greeted them yesterday came out of the guard hut, the lights of the lanterns making her look even more terrifying, her face draped in shadows and her fangs gleaming white. She strolled towards them, the cold not bothering her in the fur coat she had wrapped around her shoulders. She was grinning, feral and sadistic, sending shivers down Jake's spine as he watched her. The whole crowd seemed to hold their breath as she came closer.

She took her place in front of the lift, legs apart and disruptor in hand. Slowly she eyed them all.

"You did not meet your quota." She growled in Federation standard. She was talking to the new prisoners, not the hardened ones. She looked through the crowd again, a glint of bloodlust in her eyes that Jake knew promised nothing good.

She pointed into the crowd with a sharpened talon, seemingly at random, and two large guards stepped forward. They drove into the group, Jake drawing himself away even though they were nowhere close to him, and pulled someone out. They lifted him up so everyone in the crowd could see who it was. If it wasn't for the cowboy hat Jake could of mistaken him for any Starfleet officer. Jake wished she had picked someone else, someone he didn't know.

She pointed the gun at the man's chest, and Jake knew what was going to happen. Maybe he knew from the moment she picked someone out from the crowd. He didn't want to see it. Hadn't he seen enough horrors? He turned away, squeezing his eyes closed tightly. When he felt Bashir flinch behind him he knew it was done.

"Don't do it again." The klingon warned, before walking away. The moment she was gone the crowd surged forward, a new energy instilled in them. The desperate need to not be the next one shot.

Jake found himself next to the body. He didn't want to look, but his eyes seemed drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

It was neat, one phaser burn over his heart. He wouldn't have suffered. It would of been quick. He wondered if it was better than slowly dying like the rest of them. He wondered why didn't feel anything but thankfulness that it wasn't him. The man's words back in the cargo ship echoed mockingly. _I wouldn't last a week_. He hadn't even lasted two days. What the hell was the honour here?

"He died instantly." Bashir told him, somewhere over his left shoulder.

"He shouldn't have died at all." Jake countered. He didn't look behind him. Knew the sympathetic smile that would be on the doctor's face. If he saw it now, he might punch the man. Or burst into tears.

He heard the creek of the trap door swinging open as the first group of prisoners were lowered into the pits, as loud as a gunshot in the silence that had settled over the crowd. Without thinking - his brain seemed to have been blown out at the same time as that man's heart - he bent down and removed the cowboy hat of the dead man's head. He held it in his hands like it was a holy relic. Something sacred, important, special. It just didn't seem right to leave it to be vaporised with the rest of the body. He should be remembered, there should be proof that he was once alive.

"Vulture." Someone hissed behind him, but Jake ignored them, they didn't understand. He didn't really either. He placed the hat on his own head, his ratty dreads made it a tight fit, the rim uncomfortable where it rubbed against his skin.

In the mine the day dragged on. Jake thought it would pass quicker than the day before, but if anything it was slower. The seconds crept by, each dragging out to impossible amounts. Every time he thought about taking a slight rest, slowing down his rate of work, closing his eyes for a second, the image of the cowboy lying dead on the ground flashed through his mind. He couldn't let someone else die because of him. He couldn't let _himself_ die. He needed to get back to Deep Space Nine. He needed to survive. Even if he couldn't, at this moment, remember exactly _why_.

The end of the day didn't come a minute to soon (and about nine hours too late). The cowboy hat he had placed on his head for safe keeping was soaked with sweat. His already bruised hips were agony for even the thin material of his t-shirt to touch. His body shook with exhaustion. He didn't even know how he was still standing, only he, by some miracle, was.

He was the first back to the barrack after the signal came. Ceremoniously he hung the cowboy hat off the top bunk bed, hoping the strange romulan who slept up there would not mind.

He was already sitting cross legged with both blankets wrapped around him and a bowl of lukewarm gruel in his hands when Bashir came in. He was talking to a vulcan in a language Jake couldn't understand. He walked side by side with her to their bed.

"Jake." He grinned an exhausted smile at him. "This is Thollesa. Our upstairs neighbour."

Jake blinked, slowly, looking the woman up and down. Her skin was a sickly pale green that was common amongst her people. Her hair cut in the sharp black bowl up that romulans and vulcans both adored, somehow still perfect even in this camp. But it was the smooth forehead which confused Jake, and as he pointed it out the woman's eyes flashed dangerously.

"Not all of my people have forehead ridges." She hissed, her romulan accent coming out stronger when she was annoyed, and Jake found himself edging away, even in his bone deep exhaustion. Bashir smiled pleasantly, like he thought that alone could break the tension that had formed between the two of them.

"Thollesa, why don't we get some dinner?" With her head held high, she picked her bowl on her bed and spun on her heel. She left Bashir while he was still searching for his own container.

"Bad topic?" Jake asked, uncomfortable. Bashir nodded, grimly.

"Just don't mention it again." He picked up his bowl, leaning over and squeezing Jake's shoulder. "She won't even remember it when she comes back."

They came back ten minutes later, and Jake realised the doctor was wrong. Thollesa still had a glint of fire in her eye as she looked at him.

She sat down stiffly at the edge of the bed, while Bashir flopped down and sprawled out, like he couldn't even sense the tension gathered around the bunk. Then again, maybe he couldn't. He had a habit of butting into situations he wasn't invited into, though lately his Dad's (and Dax's) complaints had become more and more rare.

As Bashir shifted into a more comfortable position, the whole bed frame shook, and the cowboy hat fell to the floor. With energy Jake could of sworn he hadn't owned a minute ago, he put his near empty bowl down before picking the hat off the cold floor. He placed it in the middle of the bed between the three of them, like a messed up shrine.

Picking up his bowl again Jake dug his hand back into the slimly gunk and ate another mouthful. Looking down, Jake realised someone - _Bashir_ \- had put more food in it while he had been busy. The doctor must of known he would be smart enough to notice. Not even Bashir was that arrogant. But before Jake could complain, argue, _thank him_ , the man was talking about the hat.

"Cleared away the body already." Bashir said softly. "This is the only thing left of Lieutenant Delford." Jake blinked, realising he had never known what the security officer was called until then. The romulan snorted, not respecting the man's death.

"They clear him too quickly. In our camps we leave bodies up days to remind." Jake shivered at the thought of the klingons leaving the bodies hanging up somewhere as they decomposed, thankful they were not in a romulan work camp. Bashir looked like he wanted to start an argument with the alien, probably on camp etiquette and how she was biased. But Jake spoke quickly before they could begin.

"Why did they pick him?" That question had been flying around Jake's head all day. Why did they choose him to kill? There was near two hundred people in the crowd to pick from.

"Isn't it obvious?" Thollesa asked between handfuls. Jake just wished she would leave them alone. She seemed unable to experience empathy, or pretend to give a damn that one of their fellow officers had died. Why couldn't she just join her own people - there were enough romulans in this camp. Bashir glared at her, and Jake wondered if he was thinking the same.

"Against the belief of our romulan _friend_ here - " If Jake still had the ability too, he would of laughed at the amount of sarcasm Bashir managed to infuse into that one word " - these klingons are clever. They picked one of the new guys as a message to us. The Federation prisoners. And he was the one who stood out."

Jake looked at the hat. Covered in the same white powder they were, the rim thick with a layer of sweat. _Don't stand out_ he thought, _survive_. Because that was the real reason he asked, to find out how to get through the next day, and the one after that until, what? He dropped dead from exhaustion?

Bashir sighed, pulling his fingers through his growing hair, the digits getting caught in the rapidly forming tangles. The thick grease that had gathered on his scalp keeping it pushed back, away from his face.

"Not to mention his hand. It makes him - " Bashir's face twisted " - more disposable. If they had just given me the right equipment I could of replaced the hand in less than an hour! Not to mention properly fix up the injuries sustained in the mines, and in those stupid fights! They kill us for not working fast enough, but they don't keep us healthy enough to do anything!"

His words were heated, but under them was a current of defeat, like he was already tired of fighting. Because if he stood up, he would end up like Delford. Because, right now, the doctor was in the same position as him : just trying to survive, just trying to remember why he needed to.

They ate the rest of the meal in a grim silence which weighed heavily down, taking their time while others filed out to watch the fight. At the end of the night Jake hung the hat back on the end of the bed, glad when Thollesa said nothing. That night he fell asleep with his face pressed into Bashir's shoulder.

*

The 'days' blurred together. It didn't take long for Jake to lose track of, well, everything. The moon turned so much more slowly than the Earth, a whole day for the sun to rise, and set, everything in between just burning bright light of the too close sun, or a light absorbing black which make Jake feel like he never left the mines. The only good thing about those long, long nights was the bright gas giant that Jake liked to track around the sky as they orbited it.

He found himself only talking to Doctor Bashir and, even more rarely, the strange romulan which slept above them. The people who he'd talked to on the ship, on the planet, distant memories even as they worked only feet away from him.

Bashir, however, seemed to know everyone. While he was not the only doctor within the camp, he was the only one that didn't stick only to his species. In fact, the man had taken responsibility for their whole barrack, fixing up injuries from the mines, or a doomed fight with a klingon. Jake had become his 'assistant', handing the make shift bandages and splints to the doctor without saying a word. He tried to listen to what Bashir said to him, but nothing seemed to stick in his brain anymore, running out his ear and pooling on the floor.

He wasn't even aware that something was building under his skin until it exploded outwards. And it aimed itself at the doctor, because who else was there to be mad at? The man always bulked out Jake's gruel with his own ration, and, well, he just had enough.

He pushed Bashir back. Surprised, the man nearly fell off the bed, catching himself at the last moment, malnourished arms trembling. "Jake?" He asked, carefully, face concerned. And that just made Jake madder. Because he hadn't felt anything in so damn long other than despair, and now he could feel the buzz under his skin, he didn't want it to leave.

"Stop doing that!" He tried to yell, the dust in his lungs turning into a rough croak. Around them, those who had not gone to the fight, ignored them. Nobody cared. Jake hated them for that as well. Hated himself more because he felt the goddamn same.

"Doing what?" Bashir looked sad, confused, but it wasn't going to change anything.

"Giving me your stupid food over some misplaced feeling of responsibility!"

"I'm not - " The doctor began, but Jake spoke right over him.

"You don't need to give me extra attention because my dad's your stupid commanding officer! You don't even know what I've done to you!"

"You haven't - "

"I left you to _die_!" It felt good, to finally shut the man up. "When they began to drop those bombs I ran away. I saw you get hit and left you to _die_! And I'm sick of you going out your way to help me! I'm a coward. A damn coward, and I don't deserve any of this kindness you're giving me!" Tears began pouring down his face, hot and fast. He didn't even try to wipe them away. Now the words were spilling out of him, he couldn't get them to stop. He needed the man to leave him. He prayed he wouldn't. "You seem to of gotten it in your thick skull that I'm some kind of hero. Well, I'm not! Those klingons I stopped in the hospital? Accident. I just didn't want to die."

Warm arms wrapped around them, and Jake tried to shake them off, but his body was too weak from the long shifts in the mines. After a moment he decided it would be better just to fall into them, accept the rare comfort that was coming his way, even if he didn't deserve it. He pressed his face into Bashir's jacket, rubbing his snot and tears on it. The doctor didn't seem to mind, just kept making soothing sounds, and rubbing his back.

"I-I left you t-to die." His voice was thick, barely more than a whisper. "How can you stand to touch me when you know _that_." As if to prove a point, Bashir took Jake's hand as he pulled back, his eyes catching the boy's and refusing to let go, so his words spoke to his soul.

"You're not a Starfleet Officer." He reminded. His voice was thick too, like he might start crying with Jake at any moment. "You haven't been trained for _any_ of this. It's not your fault." Jake shook his head, wanting so badly to believe the words, but he couldn't.

"It's _not_ your fault." Bashir repeated. They stood like that for a while, the doctor whispering sweet lies, and Jake taking comfort in the human contact he wasn't even aware he'd been missing until it was returned. Finally he pushed himself away from Bashir, wiping his eyes harshly with his jacket.

"I- I still don't want you to give me extra food. I know you feel responsible for me because of my dad - "

Bashir shook his head. "It's not because of your father. It's my fault you're here Jake. You're a good kid, and I threw you into a war zone, and you don't deserve to slowly starve to death in here."

"What, and you do?" But the anger that had burned hot through his body was gone, and the words came out more weary than venomous. How could a man who, even now in Hell, tries to help those around him, think so low of himself? Bashir just looked down at his hands, his face twisted in an emotion Jake couldn't identify. He changed tact. "You're doing just as much work as me. You need it and - and I don't want to see you waste away." It felt like weakness, to admit he cared. That somewhere along this messed up line the doctor began to mean something to him. Bashir opened his mouth, but Jake shook his head, refusing to listen to any more weak excuses. To him, it just sounded like the man wanted to punish himself. "Please. Stop."

Bashir bit his lip, before sighing. "OK." He finally relented.

Jake nodded. "Good." They want back to eating their now cold gruel in silence. It was worse when it lost the small amount of heat it came with. It turned stickier, more choking. But they were too hungry to complain.

"Hey Doc." Jake said, as he finished his bowl, waiting for Bashir's eyes to find his before he spoke. "You're a good guy too."

For a moment, the man just looked shocked, before a grin broke out on his face so wide Jake thought it might split in half. He found he had no other choice but give his own cheek aching smile back.

*

News, if needed to, could travel quickly through the mines.

If a doctor was needed, the workers would hiss to each other, a game of Chinese whispers with someone's life on the line, the message getting to the one needed without anyone slowing down there work. If a mine shaft fell in, the dead would be named by passer-bys. If a bad guard was leaving, there would be joy in the voices of men who had lost everything as they cackled their delight to any prisoner who would listen.

Jake heard about the suicide on the first trip up the narrow mine shaft of the day. It was almost like the Getter had been waiting for him at the point where the full trays were left, waiting to tell him the juicy gossip of the day. While Jake could not see the person talking to him, the face obscured by the blinding flashlight attached to the man's head, his accent was Cardassian, his words having the slight hiss that all reptilian species got when speaking standard.

Jake always suspected they would be the kind of neighbours who peered over your hedge and eagerly told everyone your dirty laundry.

"There's been a suicide, from Starfleet." He sounded happy at the news, and Jake could easily picture the sadist smirk which was no doubt on his face. He obviously knew Jake was Federation, after all he was speaking standard. "A _human_. I always knew your species was weaker."

Jake took a deep breath, absorbing the news, before he grunted his acknowledgement, tipped the trays of rocks into his cart and didn't even accidently slam the empty mental containers on the damn cardassian's hand.

They were always like that, the cardassians. All sick and twisted on the inside. Jake didn't quite know when he became so nationalist. When prisoners vs klingons became humans vs aliens vs klingons. But the longer he stayed in the camp the more he saw the difference between the species, saw how when the going got tough it was better to stay with those like yourself. As much as he tried to remember that was what the guards wanted, the other species trapped in the camp wasn't making it easy, and he was too tired to fight it.

As he pushed his cart back and forth for the rest of the shift he got more and more details, some in the form of taunts to the Federation, others more sensitive. It was a girl, a medical ensign, and she had hung herself using her Starfleet issued belt. But if it was off one of the lights or off the top of her bunk there seemed to be some disagreement.

He couldn't get the image of a faceless turquoise clad officer hanging from the rafters, but he was sure that was all he was going to see - what his imagination could supply. However, at the end of the day, as the lift reached the surface and the sweat drenched bodies flooded off it, Jake realised that was not the end of it.

It was the large crowd gathered that made his stomach feel like it had been plunged in ice water. After shift most people returned to their huts straight away, eager for food and another layer to keep the cold at bay. Only later, at the fight, did a crowd gather.

He got off the lift, pulling his t-shirt over his head as he made his way to the group. It never even crossed his mind that he could go straight back to the barrack, that he didn't have to see this. Even standing on his tiptoes with his long, lanky frame he couldn't see what they were looking at. Not wanting to cause a fight, or even a conversation, he waited patiently, tiredly, brokenly, until eventually he found himself at the front.

She was pale, mouth hanging open, tongue thick and swollen. But his eyes couldn't focus on her face, instead glued to the mottled mark around her neck, darker on the left than the right. If he squinted, Jake thought he could see a the slight pattern from the belt engraved on her flesh.

He was transfixed, a morbid fascination. A wonder of why someone would do it. That it might be better than here. She didn't look peaceful, and Jake didn't believe in an afterlife. But nothing, nothing would be a relief.

Something warm was put around his shoulders, and Jake pulled it closer to his body without thinking, not even aware he was shivering until it trapped a layer of warm arm between it and him. His eyes never left the mark on the girl's neck.

"She was going to propose." His voice cracked half way through his statement. He didn't even know who was standing next to him. "She was going to quit Starfleet and propose to her boyfriend and not... not die on some mining planet in an unknown part of the galaxy."

A hand rubbed his back, the same as it always did. Jake drew comfort from it. That someone still cared.

"She wasn't meant to be here. She wasn't meant to die." But none of them were meant to be here. The Federation were the good guys. They were supposed to swoop in and save the planet from invaders. Not let them all die, slowly. "I'm not meant to be here."

He turned to Bashir, surprised that his eyes were still clear. Shouldn't he be crying? For the young woman in front of him that he didn't even know the name of? Or himself? He thought maybe he'd just ran out of tears.

"Did it hurt?" And Jake didn't know why he was asking. Why did it really matter? She was gone now. Bashir didn't say anything, just kept rubbing those circles in his back. His silence was answer enough, but Jake wanted to hear it. Confirm what he thought. Tell him it wasn't worth it. "Did it hurt?"

"Yes." Bashir said, slowly, like a sigh. His eyes too were locked on the body. It must be worse for him, being a doctor. He could look at the body and know all the details for what happened. Knew how long it was before someone took her down. Knew how she spent choking on her last breath.

"Do you think she changed her mind?" Bashir shrugged his shoulders, and Jake wished he could stop asking questions.

"Her bodies survival instincts kicked in. You can see the nail scratches from where the belt would of been." Jake moved his eyes up from the mark. Now looking for him he easily saw the wild scratches in her neck, easy lost against the shocking bruise. Did it buy her another second of pain?

Suddenly, Bashir grabbed his shoulders, pulling him around so they were looking each other in the eye. "Promise me you won't do that Jake. Don't even _think_ about doing something like that. There is so much you can do once you get home."

"Like - " Jake faltered. He wanted so many things, too many things to mention. That didn't even seem a part of his life any more. But Bashir wasn't going to let him falter. Let him turn into another forgotten boy. Another tragedy of war.

"What do you miss about Deep Space Nine? What is the first thing you're going to do when you get back?"

"My dad." Jake said, slowly, not even needing to really think about it. "I'm going to get my dad to make me the best bowl of jambalaya I've ever eaten in my life. And - " Bashir nodded, encouraging him to carry on. "And sleep in a damn comfy bed. And get O'Brien to teach me darts. And see if Abby wants to get a drink."

Once he started he couldn't stop. All those things he didn't want to think about. The regrets that haunted his dreams. Those tiny little jobs he left unfinished. He spent so long trying to keep DS9 out his mind, but the fact was, it was the only thing keeping him going. He was not going to die, because he was going to step through the air lock on that space station and breath the artificial air with his family and friends there and Jake would know they never stopped trying to get him back.

Finally the list stopped, not because Jake had run out of things to say, but rather because he realised he never would.

"What about you?" He asked. "What do you miss the most?" Bashir thought about it hard as he guided the younger man away from the dead ensign, breathing air through his front teeth.

"Kukalaka." He said, finally, eyes locked somewhere in the mid-distance.

"Kuka-what?"

"Kukalaka. My teddy bear." Jake looked at Bashir to see if the man was playing a joke on him, but his face was serious. His mind seemed cast back in memories that left a smile tugging at his lips.

"He's my oldest friend." And once Jake would of teased him for saying that. "Always been there, even if he's mostly only stitches now. But Leeta took a liking to him. Asked to borrow him and never gave him back."

"Maybe you can ask for him to be returned once we're back."

Bashir shook his head, sadly. "I couldn't. She loves him."

Jake doubted she loved it even a quarter as much as Bashir did, but said nothing.

That night he fell asleep with a head full of home and a new sense of determination to survive to see it.

*

"He's not my husband."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me Sisko. That man walking around the station is _not_ my husband."

"Miss O'Brien, the Chief has been back for less than a day."

"And I needed less than a minute to know it wasn't him. We've been married for a long time, I know Miles better than I know myself!"

"Then what do you think he is!"

"I don't know! That's why I came to you. Can't you do some tests or something? Find out what happened."

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yes!"

"Then I'll see what I can do. Oh, and Miss O'Brien : don't let him know you suspect something."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always thought if the changelings picked anyone else from the station to duplicate, at least someone would notice. So Miles got the short straw, but Keiko is on the case.


	4. Part Four : The Courage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, I said it would be up by the end of August, but it got to the 27th and I realised I hadn't write a single line out on my computer, and then I ended up changing what happened in the middle, and yes, I am the worst.

Jake had rules, ones he learnt quickly, formed into a list in his head and followed religiously. Until he didn't. Until a crazy part of his mind stopped listening.

Because she was a Cardassian and she was _meek_.

Jake hadn't meet many of the reptilian humanoids who built his home, but the ones he had met were so far from the definition of 'meek' as one could get. And, if Major Kira could be believed, they were all like that. So the sight of one not even struggling as they were pulled away by a heavy footed klingon guard was enough to knock the sense, and his carefully cultivated rules, out of Jake's head.

At first glance (and that should of been the only glance, rule number six : don't look twice) he had thought her unconscious, or dead. But as she was carried away her very much alive eyes met his and they pleaded for him to help, even if the resignation of her fate shone just as brightly behind it.

Jake was a coward. He had proved it time and time again on Ajilon Prime and everything that came afterwards, but he was still a good man. No amount of forced labour and starvation and war could change that. It was something he inherited from his parents, and something he had once planned to give to his own children. Before he knew what he was doing he had followed them between the large huts.

"What are you doing?" It must of been the adrenaline, his voice didn't even waver as he broke every rule he'd ever made.

The klingon turned, slowly. He towered over the teen, his teeth sharp and black eyes deadly. Jake's heart beat like a snare drum in his chest, his legs shook, and his hands curled into tight fists. He should be running. He didn't even step back.

"Let her go." His voice did shake that time, but Jake was more amazed that he was saying anything at all. The klingon just smirked, and turned back around. He carried on walking, dragging the girl with him. And Jake should of taken the freebie, this would never happen again, but her eyes were still pleading.

It was like his whole life had been leading up to this point. That everything that happened before, everything that would come, didn't mean anything, only this moment counted. His chance for redemption. His chance to be the man he wanted to be, to do what his father would.

Jake ran up behind the man and grabbed the guard's shoulder.

The klingon twisted. The girl fell. Something was coming towards him. Pistol. Duck.

_Pain_.

Floor. Floor was under him. Why was he on the floor?

Oh. The pistol.

He needed to... he needed to...

Why was he on the floor?

He needed to get up. Why couldn't he move? Was he being restrained?

Why was he on -

"Get a doctor!" Was that him speaking? No. It was -

_Pain_.

Push it away. Hands still restrained. No. Wait. Too heavy. He was on the floor.

"Jake!" British. _Julian_.

_Why am I on the floor_? Did he say that out loud? Why did his head hurt so much?

"You got hit." Oh. That made sense. Wait. No it didn't. He had rules. Why did he not follow the rules? "I need you to sit up."

Right. He could do that. Maybe. Why was the world spinning? Upright. Why could he only see half of Julian's face?

_My eye. I can't see_.

"It's OK. I'm applying pressure to your head wound and it's covering your eye." The doctor sounded calm. It couldn't be too bad if the doctor was calm.

"Bleeding?" Jake asked, sure he spoke that time.

"Disruptors are known to have sharp edges. Luckily for you they are made out of a lightweight polymer. Now if you got hit by a romulan weapon I would be worried."

Joking, it was good that Bashir was joking. Around Jake the world began to make more sense, everything coming back to him slowly, like a camera coming into focus. Something had been placed around his shoulders, a blanket or two.

"I'm not cold." He said, slowly, stupidly. Bashir smiled at him, the kind one he used for patients.

"Let's keep it that way." Out of the one eye that was uncovered Jake saw Bashir get another cloth ready, before replacing the old one, which was discarded on the floor, the bright red of his blood bright against the pale, scratchy grey. It looked like there was so much of it. He'd carried the dead bodies of people who had lost to much blood, dumped them on the pile of the discarded vessels and never given them another thought, because if he did, he would go crazy. (He thinks he may of left his sanity back in that hospital anyway.)  

"Am I bleeding out?"

Another kind smile. "Not at all. Head wounds just bleed a lot - it's nothing to worry about."

"Idiots do as well." Thollesa. Jake had not seen her approach, but the woman was leaning against the wall of the hut beside them, arms crossed over her chest and her face as harsh as ever.

Bashir's smile turned to a frown. He scolded her, though not as harshly, Jake suspected, as he would have if it was anyone else.

"I am saying spoon heads are not worth injury."

"You are not helping!" Bashir muttered. "And I think it was brave."

"Of course you do! All humans are - "

"Are you too having a lover's quarrel?" Jake's question snapped both their eyes back to him. Well, Bashir's eyes never left him, but now the doctor was blushing a light pink, and pushed down harder on his wound, causing his patient to yelp slightly. Thollesa kept her cool better, only raising a single eyebrow.

"No!" The doctor snapped. The pressure eased off his head for a second, before being placed back on. "The blood's stopping already." Jake suspected Bashir said that less because it was the truth, and more because he wanted to change the topic of conversation. Even so, to hear a professional say it comforted him. "Thollesa, can you get some cold water?"

"Would not blood wine be better?" The romulan muttered as she turned on her heel and marched back to the barrack.

"I've got a headache." Jake said. He did, a pounding that throbbed every time his heart beat in his chest. Bashir nodded, thoughtfully.

"It should go away but if it doesn't, or gets worse - "

" - tell you straight away." Jake finished for him, used to the man's speeches to his other patients.

"Are you feeling nauseous? Dizzy, perhaps?"

"I did but it's getting better. Almost gone." The doctor nodded again.

"You'll be fine. Just need some rest and a close eye to be kept on you."

Jake let out a snort that turned to a wince as it pulled at his face muscles. "Rest? In a klingon war camp?"

Bashir just gave him a sad smile, pain etched deep and permanent. Jake wished he just kept his stupid mouth shut. Before he could try and get rid of the horrible, defeated look on the doctor's face, Thollesa returned, a bowl full of water in her hands.

Carefully Bashir removed the cloth, and Jake blinked at the amount of blood covering it ( _bleeding slowing down, my ass),_ before the man ripped it in half and dipped the cleanest side in the water. Methodically he began to clean the side of Jake's face. The water against his face made him shiver in the cold air, but as the dried blood was removed he felt lighter, like it had been physically weighing him down.

"I thought it would be larger." Thollesa commented from her spot beside them.

"If you're so unimpressed, why are you still here?" Jake snapped back, and was ignored. Bashir shrugged as he worked.

"Head wounds bleed a lot, and in ideal circumstances I would stitch this, but - "

"Romulan's would not of made such big deal out of tiny cut." Jake could not say if that was true, or if it was just some stupid attempt at proving her species superiority. But now all the adrenaline had flooded out his system, and he knew he was going to be fine, the teen just felt bone tired. They settled into a comfortable silence as Bashir finished his cleaning. Once done he threw the wet rag on the floor with a wet squelch and began trying a bandage (or, rather, another ripped up bed sheet, and Jake wondered if they had cold nights ahead of them) around his head.

"There!" The doctor said after he finished, falling back onto the balls of his feet. His voice was full of pride, like he was an artist finishing a masterpiece. "Let's get you up and to bed."

Jake wasn't sure he needed help to do that, but his companions didn't give him time to express his thoughts, instead they grabbed an arm each and (surprisingly, in Thollesa's case) carefully lifted him to his feet. Once he was steady, Jake pushed them off, taking his first hesitant step forward. When he didn't sway, he strolled more confidently. Both Bashir and Thollesa stayed glued to his side, ready to catch him if needed. Which he didn't.

By the time they reached the door of the hut people were already streaming out for the fight. Some of those who passed took a quick, curious look at Jake's bandaged face (only one, mind you), but most ignored them completely. It was not uncommon for injuries to happen.

The gruel, now cold, was even harder to eat than normal, coating their throats and making it impossible to eat without gagging. If Thollesa hadn't threatened (and Jake knew she would go through with her threats) he would of left it, for the first time in this hell not hungry, the sight of the grey mess making him vaguely nauseous.

Bashir suggested sleeping in different beds that night due to his injury, but Jake found he did not want to sleep alone.

*

Jake would like to say nothing had changed.

That his stupid, insane moment was courage had affected him only for the better. That now he could stand up tall whenever one of the guards came past. Finally grew a back bone.

But that would be lie.

All his moment of courage had given him was a fear that he never thought possible to feel without dying. He flinched every time one of those creatures even came near him, his eyes staying glued on the ground, his tongue freezing in his mouth.

Just like it would be a lie if he said he couldn't see how Bashir and Thollesa were getting closer. Soft touches and murmurings in languages he couldn't understand. He should feel happy that Bashir had managed to find something in this hell, but the truth was all he felt was resentment. She was taking Bashir away from him.

Jake couldn't be alone. The doctor was the only thing keeping him alive.

And maybe Bashir knew that. He sat closer to him during dinner, hugging closer at night as they curled up together when he couldn't sleep.

He didn't realise something was building up under his skin, that he was a ticking time bomb ready to go off, until he began to cry. Long sobs that left him breathless, his head pounding. He hadn't cried since that argument about food with Bashir, and he no longer knew how long ago that was. At some point the days and nights had lost meaning, the days blurring together, and Jake hadn't even noticed.

It happened at night. Curfew had been in acted and the room was pitch black, impossible to see even the hand in front of one's face, not that Jake would be able to see that through the blurry lenses over his eyes. He didn't know what set him off. Just one moment he was lying in bed wondering how he was ever going to get to sleep when every time he closed his eyes he saw that klingon knocking him down, and the next big fat tears were streaking down his face.

Bashir's arms, wiry but strong from hauling rocks all day, were suddenly around his body, pulling him closer to his chest. "It's OK." He whispered again and again, a record stuck on a lie that Jake could no longer believe. Finally, after too many relapses, he managed to bring his endless, chest racking sobs to the occasional snivel.

"What's wrong?" Bashir whispered, his breath dancing across Jake's neck. He shook his head, unable to talk. "Is it that Klingon?" He carried on, and Jake wished he didn't flinch. That he could say no and the doctor would believe him. Instead he was pulled closer. "It's alright, Jake, everyone's scared of something."

Jake let out a wet snort. He pulled himself away as far as he could on the thin bed, and Bashir let him go without complaint. "Scared? I'm terrified!"

"Of a person who attacked you." He said it softly, calmly. Like this was logical.

"Everyone here has been hurt by klingons, but I'm the only one who flinches whenever they come close."

"You're not." Jake shook his head, not that Bashir could see it, but the man seemed to be able to detect his disbelief and repeated his statement more firmly. "If you really look you'll see everyone had their own reactions. And you are _not_ the only one who flinches."

Jake wanted to believe him, let the words make him feel better, but he didn't even know what better was anymore. All he felt was fear and an emptiness and he just wanted this all to be over. (He knew it never was going to be.) He snuggled back in, the room to cold to be without a blanket for long. He counted Bashir's ribs through his t-shirt, wondered if he owned the same amount.

"What about you?"

"Hmmm?" Bashir was already dropping off again. Jake felt guilty keeping him awake, you needed all the sleep you could get in this place. But he wasn't going to sleep, not like this.

"What are you scared of? The thing that keeps you awake at night?"

Bashir yawned. "That's hard."

Of course, Jake scolded himself. Bashir was a Starfleet officer, not a teenage. They were trained not to be scared of klingons or running out of food or a mine shaft collapsing while they were inside.

"Must be... messaging my mother." Jake blinked. In the dark he could not see if Bashir had a smile on his face to show he was messing about, but his voice was deadly serious. "I haven't talked to them in years and I'm terrified that one day I'll wake up and have a message from them."

Jake suspected the man was only being so honest because he was tired, his filter left somewhere in the tunnels. He found it strange that someone could be so distant from their parents. His own mother had died at a young age, causing his bond with his father was even stronger. He couldn't understand the doctor's fear, but he listened to it even so, just as the man had to his.

"Would you answer? If you got a message that is."

Jake wished he could see Bashir's face as the other man lapsed into silence. A minute passed, then another, the only sound the quiet snores of the people around them. Jake was beginning to think the man had fallen asleep when he answered, voice barely audible.

"I don't know, I just don't know." Another minute past before the doctor spoke again, voice quieter than a whisper. "I guess it doesn't matter now anyway."

*

The first fight Jake went to, he was terrified.

"Stay here and rest." Bashir instructed one night, his eyes following those going to the fight as they streamed out the hut. Jake frowned, confusion in every line of his face. His head injury hurt as he scrunched it up but he found it impossible to keep his face neutral.

"Where are you going?"

"He is going to fight." Thollesa said, disapproval clear in every syllable, one step ahead of Jake in every way. He was beginning to think the woman's past was in espionage, though she would never mention her previous life, as she seemed to know everything that was going on in this place.

"Why?"

"Because humans are idiots."

Jake ignored her, eyes staying locked on Bashir, fearfully the man would run the moment he was distracted. The doctor shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot. "I'm going to get you a day off - for your birthday."

He blinked - he had completely forgotten about his birthday, couldn't believe the other man had remembered, let alone kept tracked in this place. His heart beat painfully in his chest as he thought about his seventeenth. He had spent it with his dad on Deep Space Nine. Just a small thing, no party like Quark wanted to hold in his bar, and one of his father's brilliant cakes, but it was still amazing. He thought he would be home before now.

Jake shook his head in disbelief. It was a nice thought - the nicest thing a person could do for another in this hell - but really? Bashir in a fight? "And how's getting your face bashed in going to be a nice birthday present?"

Thollesa nodded in agreement, but even as Jake spoke he realised how hypocritical he was being. Had he too not jumped into a fool hardy situation to help someone? And he hadn't even known them. But that person was in danger, and now Jake kept his head so far down he could barely see the horizon, let alone the gas giant they were orbiting. When he looked at Bashir the man  had that stubborn glint in his eyes that said he wasn't going to back down and the boy sighed, resigned.

"At least let me watch?" Jake compromised.

"You shouldn't come." The doctor said firmly, shaking his head, like he thought he was protecting Jake, like his life wasn't already a horror show in blood and pain.

"Let me watch or I'll get Thollesa to restrain you. I know she will."

The romulan nodded. "And I will enjoy it."

Bashir bit his lip, and Jake could see the arguments flying around in his head, before the man sighed. "OK."

Jake grinned. "Thanks Doc"

"And Thollesa," Bashir said, sternly, "you look after him, OK?"

She said something in her native language, probably cursing them and humanity in general, before nodding.

They followed those already walking towards the ring. Even though Jake's heart was thumping with dread, his cut burning with a reminder of how this was probably going to end, he couldn't quite stomp down the feeling of excitement which pooled in his belly. He had never been in a fight the whole time he had been here, had never even wanted to see the cruelty, the pain, that the prisoners would chose to go through on the off chance of one measly day off, but now he was on his way he found he was eager, a strange exhilaration pumping through his body, making him feel lightheaded.

Making it to the ring of people gathered, Bashir elbowed his way to the middle. Jake and Thollesa followed through where he had parted the crowd, getting themselves front row seats. All around them people jostled together, knocking into those around, all trying to get the best view. Jake found himself tightly pressed to Thollesa. He leant against her in what he hoped was a discreet manner. He was exhausted from working non-stop for god knows how long.

Bashir stood up straight, channelling a confidence that he usually only had on the operating table. Maybe it was this, or the eagerness of a new challenger in the ring, that had the other contenders in the middle stepping back until only he remained. The female klingon - the executioner -  swaggered in, looking down at him.

"New blood." She hissed, baring her fangs, and Jake didn't know how Bashir didn't crumble under that gaze. Even on the side lines he found himself sinking further into Thollesa's body.

"I want to fight." The klingons jeered from the other side of the circle. Jake noticed prisoners and guards kept a person sized gap between their two sides.

"You are in the right place for that."

"And I want to chose who I fight." That got the woman's attention. She walked up to the doctor, a talon caressing his cheek mockingly.

"Revenge? How... _interesting_. You may pick."

"And - " she glared at him, getting bored with the demands the man was giving, but he carried on, "when I win - " a snort went up among the klingons " - he gets a day off." Bashir pointed straight at Jake who swallowed nervously as every eye in the circle turned to him.

The woman laughed, spit flying from between her lips. " _If_ you win, I will grant this. But you are a fool to think you have a chance, human."

Jake wondered if a human - or any of the prisoners in fact - had won a fight here. It didn't seem likely. The guards were well fed, well trained, and, well, _guards_.

"Pick your opponent quickly." The woman stepped out of the ring and Bashir turned to face the semi-circle of watching klingons, all with blood lust in their eyes. He took his time, looking over each one carefully, ignoring the yells of both sides to 'just pick a damn one already'. If it was up to Jake (and thank the prophets it was not) he would take on one of the younger guards. Not only would they lack the experience of the older ones, but they would match with Bashir's body type better.

He did not pick one of them.

Instead he chose a big beefy guard with a tall frame and shoulders so wide two Bashir's could stand side by side and still have breathing room. Next to the malnourished, wiry doctor he looked like a giant. And Jake recognised him immediately, his head throbbing painfully at the mere sight of him. The female klingon was right - this was about revenge.

Jake would like to say his actions before proved he was not a coward, that some of his father's strength existed deep inside of him, but as the klingon stepped forward, Jake took a step backwards. He cowered behind Thollesa, thankful of the romulan's bulky frame.

"What is he doing?" Jake hissed into one of her pointed ears.

"Is this not one of your misguided human customs?" She replied back, sarcasm thick in her voice, but Jake thought he heard something else in it. Something that sounded a lot like worry as she eyed the doctor in the ring.

Jake's own eyes could not leave the klingon. He couldn't watch the fight, he knew he had to. He just wished his heart didn't pound so loud in his ears, and his breath wasn't puffing out like a steam train. He didn't want to give the klingon the satisfaction of knowing he was terrified of him. (Didn't want to remember what he was, who he failed to save.)

From fights Jake had seen on the station, he had expected them to trade verbal blows before physical ones, but whether due to the language barrier or the fact klingon's did not waste time on that, they did not.

A meaty fist came up and swung forward and - and Bashir dodged it.

Jake blinked. He didn't think that was possible. As his mind was still trying to process the first miss, Bashir dodged two more. Jake didn't think humans could move faster than klingons, didn't think _Bashir_ could.

The klingon suddenly changed tact, the man's right turning into a low left hit and Bashir was too slow to compensate. A sigh echoed through the prisoner side as the fist ploughed itself into the doctor's stomach. Bashir grunted as the air pushed its way out his lungs, and he stumbled backwards, but stayed on his feet. Jake wasn't relieved. If Bashir went down now the fight will be over before the klingon had turned the doctor into mince meat.

The doctor used his slight frame to his advantage, all nimble and dodging. But he couldn't get close enough to his target to get his own hit in, and he was already tiring. The man had worked all day in the mines, had to splint a twisted ankle of a fellow prisoner, it was no wonder he was about to drop. The Klingon landed a few more glancing blows. While Thollesa hissed that the man had no technique to his swings, Jake's stinging face reminded him of the raw strength each blow would have behind it.

And then, suddenly, Bashir was though his blocks.

The klingon roared and the doctor was thrown backwards. Winded - Jake prayed it was only winded - as he fell to the floor with a loud thump, and stayed down. He looked like a broken toy, lying on the hard ground.

Standing to his full height, the klingon reached to his belly and with one quick pull extracted a jagged shank from it. Bashir must of been hiding the ragged bit of metal on his person, waiting for the perfect time to use it on his opponent. Jake didn't think that was allowed, then remembered that were probably wasn't any rules in this barbaric custom. Honour was a distant memory, even - especially - for the klingons that worked here.

The klingon threw it to one side, and the crowd hastily ducked out of its way. When Jake looked back up the giant was straddling Bashir, fists in air.

Jake closed his eyes.

He already hear the sound of Bashir's screams as those fists broke his nose, jawbone. The klingon's triumphant laugh as the man chocked on his own blood.

But the scream he heard was not the doctor's. Too low, too animalistic, too _klingon_.

His eyes flicked open, not quite believing what he was seeing. Bashir, one hand drenched in blood, stood panting on shaking legs, and the klingon, clutching his hands to his stomach, lying on the floor.

The crowd of prisoners cheered at the sight, while the guards snarled through sharpened teeth. Two klingons came forward and none too delicately pulled their fallen comrade off the floor and dragged him away. Bashir was ignored. The moment they were gone Thollesa and Jake hurried over to Bashir, who fell on them gratefully.

"How did you do that?" Jake asked, voice full of awe. He would of never thought Bashir could win against a klingon.

"I got lucky." The doctor grunted. While he was trying to mask it, Jake could hear the undertones of pain in his voice. They helped lower the man to the floor and he efficiently began to check himself for injuries, wincing as he pressed his hand against his ribs. All the while his right arm stayed still at his side.

"Luck does not exist. You fought well, Julian." Thollesa said, her voice almost... proud. She bent down, pressing her forehead against the doctor's forehead and they both closed their eyes. Feeling like he was watching something deeply person, Jake turned away.

He watched the prisoners slowly make their way back to the hut, and Jake was once again struck by how tired his was, his eyes barely able to stay open as he swayed on his feet. His forehead throbbed, and he lifted his fingers up to the cut, feeling the rough scab under his finger tips.

Once the two had pulled apart, and Bashir was back on his feet, a young male Starfleet officer came up to offer his congratulations, looking as awe-inspired as Jake felt. "How did you do it?"  

Jake had never thought Bashir would be modest - he was always happy enough to boast about his boring medical skills to anyone who would listen - but he seemed uncomfortable with the fact he had won.

"He left himself open." He said, shortly, eyes looking over the officer's left shoulder. "The only thing I could do was shove my hand into his wound."

They stumbled back to the hall, Thollesa and Jake either side of the doctor to keep him upright. He didn't look good, weak and tired, falling on the bed with a grunt. He couldn't believe Bashir would hurt himself so much for him. It filled him with relief and anger that he would lay down his life just to give Jake a day off.

"Take it." Jake hissed. "I don't need it." But Bashir shook his head.

"It's your birthday. I can't buy you that drink, but I can do this for you. Please Jake, you deserve this."

Jake fidgeted before sighing, lifting up the bowl of water at the doctor's feet and helping him drink from it. "OK. But promise me you'll never be that stupid again."

The doctor grinned, before wincing as he jarred his ribs. "Not until next year."

The thought of being here for one more year made Jake fell sick. He wouldn't survive that, didn't want to survive that. Bashir must of seen the look on his face as he leant forward, grasping Jake's cheek.

"You're going to be fine, Jake." He wished he could believe him. Wished the doctor could believe himself.

*

On his day off he slept, every muscle in his body heavier than lead, his dreams, for once, mercifully blank. It was better than all the alcohol in Quark's bar.

*

"What are you planning?"

Bashir looked up like a rabbit in the headlights, but still tried to act innocent. It would be funny if Jake's stomach wasn't sinking to his feet.

"I - I don't know what you mean." His voice stuttered at the start, and Jake prayed no one ever gave the man a secret - he wouldn't last a day.

"I know something's coming." He'd been feeling it for days, the same buzz in the air that hung across Deep Space Nine before a battle. It vibrated through the walls, getting under the skin of even those who didn't know what was going on.

Bashir bit his lip, played with the fraying edges of his t-shirt. "I don't want you to get hurt."

Jake snorted. "I'll be more hurt if I don't know what's going on."

He sat down on the bed next to the doctor, leg jumping up and down like he had enough energy to spare on that. "We're - " Bashir began, letting out a loud sigh before continuing. "We're uprising."

Jake felt the first grin in days, weeks, his life, spread out on his face. "I knew it!"

Bashir shushed him. There was no klingons about, but it was still better to be quiet. "It's gotta be kept on the down low, OK? They've been planning this for months, only now even letting people like us on to it."

Jake nodded, leaning closer. "Right. Sorry. What's the plan?"

Bashir eyed the room wearily. "L'Tan is breaking into the systems. When you hear a beep, hide."

"I'm not hiding!" Jake exclaimed, unable to believe the doctor was even suggesting it. "This involves me too!"

"Jake. Promise me." But Jake couldn't. Because he maybe a coward, every time he had to pull it together he ended up crying in the corner, but this time, he wasn't go to. Just like he stood up to that klingon that bashed his head in, only this time he was going to win. Because he couldn't live like this, like he was less than a person. Like he didn't have rights and hope and feelings.

Jake was going to fight.

*

It came two days later on Jake's third run back. Already his body was aching. His arms cried every time he placed a new rock into his trolley. But when the beep sounded he forgot all that.

In the dim light his eyes made contact with the person pushing a cart the other way. A second was all he needed to know they were on the same side. Jake's eyes said _make your move_ and the answer was the same light that shone in the eyes of the prisoners' before the nightly fight.

The man - and in this moment it didn't matter that his comrade was a cardassian, the worst of the bad bunch trapped here - stepped backwards from his cart, a wicked smile on his face. The closest klingon guard, already weary from the untimed beep, turned towards them.

The guard marched towards them, flat footed, disruptor in hands. Jake wondered if he would fire it, or use it as a battering ram like they seemed to prefer? His barely healed wound throbbed at the sight, and the teenager couldn't tear his eyes away.

Quietly, he leaned into his cart, picking up a sizable  rock in his hands. His heart screamed in his chest, pounding blood through his ears, and he couldn't hear the exchange happening. Only see the sly smile of the cardassian's face as he moved behind the klingon, still unseen, waiting for the signal.

_Bam!_

Jake jumped, the rock falling to the floor at his feet. He'd left it too long. The klingon had attacked and the cardassian had responded. Eyes wildly looking around, he found the source. The prisoner had disarmed the guard, the gun flying into the rock wall and going off. He looked back to the fight, the guard easily winning.

Trying not to think about it - if he thought about it, it would make it real, and Jake knew he would freeze - he dived for the disruptor. The cold polymer was slippy in his sweaty hands. He twisted around, finger on the trigger, pointing it towards the fast moving scuffle on the floor.

_Aim_. He thought, crazily. _I need to aim._ But he'd never used klingon weaponry before. He needed to shoot. But his finger wasn't listening. He was paralysed. Again.

_Pain_. Something, someone, was pulling him backwards. A klingon. Where had he come from? They were alone in this tunnel before. He kicked, hissed like a wild cat, all limbs. The gun connected to the side of his assailants head. A lucky shot. A life saving shot.

It didn't do much. Just enough for Jake to push himself out of the grip. To get away. But his attacker was already rising. The gun was still in his hand.

_Bam!_

Miss. He kept advancing. Oh God, he was going to die. This was how he was going to die.

_Bam!_

Down. Did the klingon really just go down? Did Jake really just shoot (kill) someone? He laughed, unable to stop himself, wild like a mad man.

A grunt to his side reminded him it was too early to be celebrating. He swung it back around. This time he didn't hesitate to pull the trigger.

Their tunnel fell silent, the walls muffling the sound of other fights that were surely taking place only mere meters away. With the gun in his hand and adrenalines coursing through his veins better than any drug the Federation could make, Jake wanted to run into the battle. Then his common sense ( _cowardice_ ) kicked in.

He stumbled to the dead klingon, red blood splattered all over him. After all Jake had seen, it still made him want to throw up. Roughly he shoved the body away, letting it roll to the floor with a heavy thud.

Under him, the cardassian too was dead, face frozen in a mask of agony. His torso had a neat disruptor blast in the middle. From Jake. It had gone straight through the klingon into the prisoner.

This time he did puke. Watery bile joining the blood on the floor. He'd never killed anything before, never wanted to. A part of his mind called him a murderer, the other part, the part that sounded like his father, said _this is war._

The sound of the fighting down the tunnel was getting louder. He wanted to get away from it all. He knew he had no choice now. They were following the plan Bashir had told him, heading for the lift, getting onto open ground.

Take a deep breath (and why was it even harder to breath in here than usual?) Jake picked up the other klingon's gun. His finger went to the trigger. Just a piece of plastic, rubbed smoothed by use, that made a scared little child into a warrior.

He began to run towards the lift, feet pounding on rock. The route which seemed to take a life time pushing a cart took only seconds. Here the battle was in full throttle, blurs of shots and falling men. Jake dived behind an upturned trolley. Took a moment to catch his breath as the mine shook and pale dust coated him.

_I could just hide here_ Jake thought.

_This is war_ his father replied.

With one last gulp of oxygen, Jake peeked around the cart, nozzle first, quickly taking analysis of the chaos around him. Before he could even think, he was firing.

One. Two. Three.

He didn't know if he hit his target. He didn't want to know. Just took a deep breath and did it again.

And again... and again... and again... and again... and ag-

"Jake, it is over." The voice sounded familiar, but too close. He swung his gun around, and all the courage he felt when shooting was lost at the thought of hand to hand combat. But the disruptor was easily caught by a thin hand. He was going to die. He was going to -

"Jake." He blinked when no pain came. He was sure death involved pain. He followed the hand up, found himself staring at ridgeless Romulan, a look on her face that if he didn't know her he would call concern. Because why would Thollesa care about him?

She gripped his hand, pulling him up to standing. He gazed around. A sea of blood, every colour one could think of, and bodies, every species that, he was sure in that moment, ever existed. He couldn't stand it, his eyes going back to her. Regretting that when she grinned at him, her teeth painted red with other people's blood. He wanted to run away, but her grip was too tight. She was pulling him along, his numb legs stumbling to keep up.

The prisoners that survived (oh God, he was walking through the blood and entrails and brains of his comrades, oh God, why had he deserved to survive and they not?) their guard's guns in one hand and their issued pick axes in the other. They looked grim - it wasn't even close to being won yet.

Suddenly he was being pushed to the floor (they knew he killed a fellow prisoner, they were going to shoot him for it) and his knees, already weak, obliged. But no shoot came, only Bashir.

The man, now in doctor mode, did not look up from his patients (lost causes), bandaging wounds with torn up bed sheets and sheer determination to not lose anyone else. There was no water down here, and the dust which clung to everything stuck to the wounds.

"Stay here." Thollesa ordered, like a general. Jake was a foot soldier (cannon fodder) he should of obeyed. Instead he grabbed her wrist. She could of easy battered him off, but she stopped.

"I can help." His voice sounded weak, even to his own ears, but as she shook her head there was no mocking in it.

"We need people who can fight."

"I _can_ fight." As he spoke his fingers tightened around his gun, but Thollesa just ripped her wrist out his grip and left him on the floor. He didn't know one could feel relief and regret at the same time until that moment.

He turned back to Bashir, feeling lightheaded. The old wound on his forehead throbbed, and he absentmindedly wondered if he was bleeding again. (He wondered if he was dying, or maybe he was already dead.) The doctor finished winding off a bandage, standing up and cracking his back.

"How are you?" He asked, softly, like if he spoke too loud everything would come tumbling down on top of them. He began to move, and Jake, like a lost puppy, followed. Bashir, like everyone else (like him) was covered in a rainbow of blood, his bare forearms drenched with it. As they stumbled across the battle field, he looked intensely at everyone he passed, checking if they were still breathing, if they were worth his time to try and save. Those who were he fixed up as best as he could. Every klingon body they passed, Jake trained his disruptor on it, ready to shoot if it so much as twitched.

Only when they had done a circuit of the whole room did Jake realise he never answered Bashir's question. While he hadn't said a word, the man had been talking the whole time. To the patients, to the other doctors (and Jake had barely recognised Kalandra, her dyed hair grown out and deep lines in her face), and most of all to him. A never ending stream of chatter. Jake took little of it in, and what he did manage to grasp in his head wasn't good.

Cave ins, casualties and death.

So much death.

More prisoners than guards. Jake thought they wouldn't win this. That they never stood a chance but like fools they tried. Maybe they were all fed up of their slow death and just wanted it to end. (Oh God, Jake just wanted it to end.)

He fidgeted. Finger on and off the trigger. Wondering what was happening up there. If Jake hadn't lived already lived through hell he might of described in like that, wondering what was happening on the surface.

The lift came down. They were ready. A defensive perimeter that Jake had helped construct even though he didn't remember doing so had been formed out of empty carts.

Bashir was thrown a gun, and the doctor caught it one handed. Together they hid behind a cart, their guns on top and waited for the enemy to arrive. He was still twitchy, and Bashir noticed. He put his finger on top of Jake's gun, pushing it down slightly.

"Don't keep your finger on the trigger if you're so twitchy. You might shoot our own men."

Mouth dry Jake couldn't tell Bashir he already had. He didn't take his finger of the trigger, if he did he would never touch it again. He tried to make his finger freeze with force of will alone. He didn't know if it worked, but everyone was too focused on themselves to notice.

"Shit," hissed Bashir. Jake peeked over, heart sinking at the sight of klingon warrior boots and not the mismatched shoes of the prisoners.

Everyone held their fire, like a deep breath. And like every breath, it needed to go out. Jake couldn't say who made the first shot, only once it began it didn't stop, and Jake was caught in the frenzy. Just like before he didn't know if he was hitting the targets, but he couldn't stop. He was fighting for his life. Or maybe his freedom. Or maybe he didn't even know anymore, and it didn't matter anyway.

The cart next to him flew across the cavern by something stronger than a disruptor blast. The walls shook, promising a cave in. Jake didn't notice. His life became shooting, killing, ducking.

Then a hand was on his shoulder and the world came back. "They're dead." Jake dropped the gun like it was burning him.

He stood up, knees weak. The fight must of taken less than a minute, but one wouldn't be able to tell from the bloodshed. Those still on their feet (and shouldn't there be more?) moved forward, surveying the damage. A cardassian grinned, his left arm hanging down, a blasted off stump where his hand should be. There was no blood, the wound cauterised from the heat the blaster let off. Jake didn't know how he was still standing, why he still would want to be.

"I'm going up." He said, eyes too wide, making him look mad. Jake thought somebody should argue with the reptile. Maybe he was the one who was meant to. But he picked back up his gun and staggered to the lift with the rest of them. He didn't want to die in this cave.

As it lifted, Jake casted his eyes to the blood coated floor. In the dim light he could see a lone klingon finger, blasted off. Brown in a sea of red. He looked away, up to the sky that was going to appear above him.

He expected it to be dark above. All this blood being spilt felt like something that should only happen at night, but as the trap door opened blinding light shot through. He had to close his eyes against the glare, and for one glorious second the rest of the world ceased to be. He could be anywhere.

Then he was being tugged down, his eyes flying open, the harsh hiss of disruptors a reminder that he was trapped in hell, that this lift was not Jacob's ladder leading the angels to heaven, but rather taking them to another circle in Dante's Inferno. His gun was up, and he was shooting again, being pulled along.

"They outnumber us."

"We don't stand a bloody chance."

"Just keep shooting."

And more he couldn't understand. Words lost, and meaningless anyway. Bashir - it had to be the doctor, nobody else cared about him here, whether he lived or died or even existed in the first place - had dragged him behind a pile of rocks. The klingons were not focusing on him, didn't see him as a worthy target. A prisoner went down in front of him, falling down backwards, dead eyes looking straight at him. And all Jake felt was relief that it wasn't him, and hate that he could even feel that.

Next to him, Bashir was shooting and healing the injured.

Jake was shooting and hit nothing.

His arm was getting tired. At least it wasn't blown off.

Why did people enlist for this? Even Nog, his best friend, wanted to be a part of this. Maybe there was something wrong with him.

_You're a coward_. The voice in his head told him, only it was wrong this time. He was fighting, standing his ground. He was a warrior now. For some reason he thought that would make him feel good. He was wrong.

"GRENADE!"

Who yelled that? What was he supposed to do? A body jumped on him, pushing him into the hard floor. His barrel dug into his stomach, but the pain was outweighed by the comfort of the warm body on top of him. It was nice, comforting. The feeling lasted only seconds before debris rained down on him. Falling rocks. Ringing ears. His body was too heavy. His mind too slow. He needed to breath. He hit the body on top of him and it rolled off. He gasped air into his lungs.

All he could see was blood.

And a gun. In his face. _Klingon_. Hands up.

"I surrender." _Coward_.

He wasn't a warrior. Never was. And now he was going to die. And, at that moment, lying on the floor, ears still buzzing, and body so, so exhausted, he was ready.

The barrel pushed closer. Words. He couldn't hear them. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to -

"Get up."

He did.

The battle was raging still. He could hear phasers, screams. He could see the blood. It was on his hands, his clothes, his brain. He was pushed against something. Grey. Hard. The wall of a hut. His hands were pressed up against it. Another pair each side of him. If he could focus he would be able to tell his neighbour was Bashir. But he couldn't. All he could see was blood and dust and a klingon coming up behind him and shooting him in the head.

He thought about the darkness in the mines as he crawled into them, so black one couldn't see their hand in front of their face. He wondered if that was what death felt like. Too hot and claustrophobic and black.

But no bullet came. Only heavy feet marching back and forth behind them. The bright sunlight stretched the guard's shadow impossibly long, the cold from the darkness that preceded them making him shiver long before they came past. He didn't know how long he stood there, body shaking. Until the disruptor blasts stopped. Until they had well and truly lost. Maybe if he had kept fighting they would of won. Maybe if he kept fighting it wouldn't of made a damn bit of difference.

The feet stopped. The shadow loomed. Jake forgot how to breath. How to think. But they weren't there for him.

"You doctor?" To Bashir. Why did they pick him? Surely other doctors survived. But then Jake didn't know how many people did. Maybe it was just him and Bashir and the pair of hands next to him.

"So what if I am?" Bashir asked back. His voice was calm, but Jake knew him well enough to know it was just a mask. The doctor's heart was pounding, but mind spinning at warp nine asking the same question Jake's was. _Why him?_

Jake didn't see Bashir being pulled away, but he felt the puff of misplaced air. For the first time he felt completely alone.

Time lost meaning. His legs cramped up. His fingers lost circulation. He didn't dare try to move. Earlier a shot had been fired. Jake could still hear the thud of the body hitting the wall ringing in his ears.

Then they were marched into a hut, the door locked behind him. It was identical to his own hut in every way, but Jake knew it was not his.

He stood there, lost. His arms burned, and he was aware distantly they were bleeding. The blood had followed him in. They couldn't escape it. Not now.

Slight, rough hands guided him. Placing him on a bed and tucking him in. He was too tired to fight them. He half thought Thollesa would kiss him on the forehead like a mother. She didn't. Of course.

"I will look after you." She said, voice rough, like she had been screaming. Jake wanted to ask why she would do that for him, but he lost his voice somewhere in the fight. She answered his unvoiced questions anyway. "I promised."

He closed his eyes, her voice ringing in his head, and he wondered if any one actually gave a damn about him, or if it was only because of orders.

*

Jake's dreamed of guns and grenades and blood. So much blood. Covering everything. A thick layer of sticky red. He was drowning in it. Clogging his throat, his lungs, his mind. He wanted to scream, but it was muffled. He choked, spluttered, cried.

He would rather be trapped in this nightmare forever than wake up.

*

He woke with a start.

Thrashing he tried to rip off the thin blanket holding him to the bed like seaweed. He cursed and cried until it was a pile on the floor. He curled up in a ball, taking quick breaths.

Eventually his breathing slowed down. His mind began to form thoughts again. Slowly he sat up, noticing most people were still asleep, even though the lights were on blindingly bright. Even Thollesa was curled up like a cat on the cot next to his. Blood and grim stuck to her skin and hair. Proof that it had not been a dream.

He stood up, legs shaky but holding his weight, venturing to the lone toilet at the end of the hut. The loss of workers were great, only a couple forced to sleep on the floor. After the bathroom he went to the food unit, unsurprised to find it not working. That was OK - he didn't think he could eat anyway. He crawled back to bed. Tried to get more sleep. But every time he closed his eyes screams and blood echoed in his ears.

Deciding sitting up would be better, he leaned against the wall behind his bed, following the few people stiffly moving around. One, he realised with a jolt, was Bashir. He had not expected the man to come back, thought the klingons would kill him. But that was definitely Bashir moving around the room.

Awkwardly Jake stood up, hissing as the cuts on his body stretched and moved. Why hadn't the doctor visited when he came back? Was he ashamed that Jake had surrendered? Finally seen Jake as the coward he was? There was no point surviving this if the only person he cared about would no longer look at him.

He went over, pulling the man into a bone-crushing hug before he could reject him.

"You're alive." He breathed into his ear. It sounded like a miracle.

"Can't get rid of me that easily." The words sounded like a joke, but fell flat with the exhaustion in the man's voice. It didn't matter. He was trying and that meant he cared. The hug went on for a long time - longer than even a situation like this called for - but Jake feared if he let go Bashir would fade away to nothing. Blow off in the wind like the dust from the mines.

Finally he pulled away, rubbing his eyes with his hands before the doctor could see them blurring up. Bashir grabbed his hands before he could hide them behind his back, stretching them out so he could see them in the light. Bringing out a small device he ran it over Jake's skin. As the young man watched the injuries disappeared, vanishing like they never happened.

"Got anything for my mind?" It was weak, even Jake could hear the desperate undertones in it, but Bashir still smiled like they could still find things amusing.

"Sorry that's going to have to heal on its own."

So, it was up to him. And when it didn't work out, when he still woke sweating and screaming years from now, it would be only his own fault. Because he was weak. If this hell had taught him anything, it was that. Seeing his face, Bashir squeezed his shoulder carefully. At least he didn't say it would be OK. Jake was fed up of lies. Instead he turned back around, went back to examining the patient Jake had pulled him away from.

"Where did you get that?" He pointed to the dermal regenerator as Bashir held it over a large wound in a woman's dark green skin.

"The klingons took me to their medical facility. This was the only thing I could get away with sticking up my sleeve. It's not very good, but it will at least stop us getting any infections."

Together they walked around the room. Jake didn't know how much he was helping but at least he felt useful. At least the memories of the last twenty four hours stayed away. When Bashir could do no more to help the survivors Jake bundled him up in the bed he had vacated just like Thollesa had done for him. The doctor went out like a light and Jake stood next to him like a sentinel, wondering what the hell was going to happen next.

*

There was no victory. Their rations went down, the days dragged on for longer. The klingons executed the leaders of the revolt in front of them. Three shots in the back of three heads. Left the bodies in front of the huts so they passed them each morning, the frigid air preserving them. Jake remembered Thollesa had once insulted klingons for their quick disposal times of the bodies. He thought she should be more happy about their progress.

But nobody had even smiled since the raid. Any slight bit of happiness anyone could find in this hell had been destroyed the moment they had picked up their guards weapons. Each night the huts were filled with whimpers as the battle replayed in people's minds. Each time a prisoner saw a klingon they were sure they were going to die.

Then, one morning, out of nowhere, a klingon entered the single hut still in use and told them they were free.

Not everyone. Just the Federation prisoners. A deal had been struck. They were released to show that the klingons were going to try and make it work. That they were going to fight with Starfleet against a worst enemy. Jake had forgotten all about the dominion. That there were other threats than the monsters that haunted his every living hour. He couldn't understand why the Federation would ally themselves with savage creatures such as his captors to destroy other evil.

A whole cargo bay of Federation citizens had arrived. Only sixteen survived the long months of starvation and labour. There would of been more without that damn revolution.

Jake didn't listen to what Starbase they were being dropped off at. _Away from here_ was good enough for him. Hell, a farming colony on the boarded with the neutral zone would be better than this. While the few citizens that were left where grinning and hugging, Bashir and Thollesa were not. Their hands were joined, their foreheads pressed together, a bubble of grief around them. They will never see each other again. Even Jake felt a pang of pain at the notion. While he never warmed up to the romulan, he would not want anyone to stay in this hell, not when paradise was so close he could taste it. After one soft touching of lips Bashir pulled away, wiping his watering eyes before turning to Jake and pulling him into a hug. By the time they broke off he was grinning. _Really_ grinning. Like his face was going to break. He had forgotten people could smile like that.

"We're going home." The doctor laughed. "We're finally going home."  

 

*

 

"Jake, I'm home."

No reply.

Ben Sisko frowned, his mind already flying towards every possibility. Jake had been back less than twelve hours. Ben had booked the whole week off to spend time with his son, the station a secondary concern until his boy was back on his feet. But after a home cooked meal to put some fat on his far too obvious bones, and more hugs and kisses than the kid had allowed since he was eight, Jake had said he was tired and sloped off to bed.

Ben, unfortunately, understood. He too had spent time behind enemy lines, a fate he never wanted his son to experience. The months in the camp had been hard on him, and it would be a long while before he would even be close to normal. Ben wouldn't never forget how Jake _flinched_ when Worf approached him. Or how it was Doctor Bashir, not him, who reacted first, comforting and muttering how it was alright. He needed to invite the man to dinner once Jake had settled in, properly thank him for looking after his son while failed the one job a father had and left the boy to experience the worst thing one could.

As Jake had gone to bed he had reassured the boy he'll be in the other room. But being a captain of a major space station on enemy lines when a war was going on did not allow him even a whole day off, let alone a week, and he had to attend to some business. He had told the boy before he left, not surprised to find him still awake. He doubted his son would be able to have a peaceful night's rest for a long time.

Trying not to jump to the worst possibilities - after all Jake could of just dropped off into some well needed sleep, and the last thing Ben wanted to do was wake him - he moved across their quarters to his son's bedroom door.

The moment he carefully opened it he couldn't kid himself any longer : Jake had gone. Ben's hand flew to his chest and he barked to the computer to ask where the hell his son was.

"Jake Sisko is located in the infirmary." He growled at its too calm voice before charging out his quarters and down the corridor. Why was his son in sick bay? A virus that they hadn't spotted at the medical base? An injury caused as he woke up panicking that he was alone? Goddamnit, Ben should of stayed with him.

He ran faster than he ever had, legs working harder than in any baseball game he'd played, and tumbled through the doors of the infirmary. The nurse - a bajoran - pointed him through to the beds before he even had to ask. He crashed through - and stopped as his eyes found his son.

Jake was asleep. Eyes closed and looking peaceful - or at least as peaceful as he would ever get after what he had seen. His hair and beard were long making him look like a man rather than the boy who had left. He had none of the softness that once lingered on his face, but without those pained eyes he looked so much younger. Under the bright white lights the thick, pink scar on his forehead stood out against his dark skin.

But that was not what made Ben freeze so completely in his tracks. He stopped because his son was wrapped around Doctor Bashir. The man was too asleep. If it wasn't for the hollowed out cheeks and wrists so fine they looked like they would snap at any second, Ben could almost pretend the man had not been gone at all. He was back in the new Starfleet medical uniform, hair cut to its usual style and face as smooth as ever.

And between them lay a battered teddy bear, old and clearly well loved. Ben had never seen it before. For a minute he just watched them, marvelling how his child had changed.

Suddenly, Jake moaned in his sleep, and Ben was over in a flash, hand cradling his boys. Sleepily his eyes opened, fear being chased away as he recognised who it was. Ben smiled.

"Go back to sleep son, I'm here."

Jake let out a sleepy smile, so bright it took Ben's breath away, before squeezing his father's hand and closing his heavy eyes and once again drifting off to sleep.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the things I wanted to do was make sure the ending didn't have the USS Defiant coming in guns a-blazing and freeing everyone like it happens on the show, but through diplomatic means. In the show, the alliance with the klingon empire is once again established once the prisoners from the Dominion war camp come back. In this timeline, O'Brien is discovered as a changeling much earlier than Bashir ever would be, and hence they were rescued faster and the truce was formed once again quicker. And like hell Sisko was going to have an alliance without his son being freed.   
> Poor Jake and Bashir are going to have a hard time with the fact DS9 is now swarming with klingons though. Actually, they are just going to have a hard time recovering from this period, but that's up to your imagination, guys.
> 
> Thank you for reading this. Really I'm amazed you got to the end of my 40,000 word vomit which I'm pretending is a story.


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